


Above All Else

by lovemyway (vesper93)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Angst, Art, Catholicism, Choices, Crime, Dirty Talk, Drugs, Escape, Gangs, Heartbreak, History, Hurt, Journey, Kissing, Love, Lust, Multi, Mystery, Need, Oral Sex, Parents, Paris - Freeform, Prostitution, Reality, Rimming, Robbery, Sadness, Sex, Soulmates, Threesome, Travel, Trust, Voyeurism, Work, Young Love, artefacts - Freeform, joy, there will be angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-07-01 15:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 61,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper93/pseuds/lovemyway
Summary: Paris, magical Paris. What if Oliver had held out his hand and asked Elio to go with him, that fateful day after the night before in Rome? What if they had run together in order to stay together?How will Elio and Oliver cope when they find themselves caught up with a criminal gang, whose crime has been centuries in the making?A colourful cast of characters join Oliver and Elio in Paris, with secrets of their own, goals and desires, into which the two lovers will find themselves entangled.





	1. Prologue: Day Zero

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be coming after I finish After The Flood (don't worry there's still several chapters of that one to go yet!). This is just a little teaser to get you primed and ready to go - hope you enjoy!

Elio was stood staring at his shoes; the dirty white laces were shoved clumsily through the metal loops to criss-cross so that he could lace them at the top. This was the only pair he had with him, and they still had mud of the mountainside that he'd clambered up only a few days ago still clinging to the rubber edges. He couldn't bear to look up; it was as if the huge lump in his throat was preventing him from moving his head. He was going to cry, he just knew it, but he didn't want it be  _yet_. He wanted to wait until there was nothing else, until there was no one, until he could collapse into the sheer misery that was waiting to explode in that lump, deep in his chest and in his throat. 

He heard the train door slam, and he couldn't help it, he just  _had_ to look. He lifted his eyes, expecting to see a closed green door, and the back of his beautiful blond head, ready to be carried away into a life where he, Elio, would have no part to play.

But that wasn't the sight that greeted him. Oliver was still stood on the platform; his hand on the train door handle, looking back at him.  

A train guard approached them both, a whistle between his lips. He removed it to speak. 

' _Scusi, se vuoi prendere il treno, devi salire a bordo pronto,_ ' he said to the tall blonde man, who was still standing there, an unreadable expression on his face. 

Elio was searching his face, every moment of the last few weeks crammed into a few seconds as they stood in silence, the deafening sound of all that happened crashing around them for no one but them to hear. 

Then Oliver held out his hand towards him; his eyes insistent and desperate. 

**'Come with me?'**


	2. How Far I'll Go

He wasn't sure his heart was still beating as he looked down at the brunette head, currently resting on his shoulder, face beneath relaxed in sleep. His chest hurt, as he took stock of his body for want of something to think about other than that which was plaguing his mind. His feet, clad in their off white sneakers, were resting on his duffel bag, with his companion's small rucksack tucked under his knees. That was all they had in the world now. Everything they owned was in this tiny carriage. A wave of nausea climbed up his throat, but he pushed it down. It had been his madness that had started all this, he had to be strong enough to see it through. Was he mad enough to see this through?

He unclenched the hand that was resting on his thigh, examining each finger and the knuckles of each one. He'd always thought his hands were ungainly and too big, despite them matching his form perfectly. Then Elio had put his own delicate hands against them a few fleeting weeks ago, and they hadn't seemed so ugly anymore, they'd seemed protective, sturdy, and strong. Then Elio had leaned forward and sucked one of his fingers into his mouth, and Oliver had ceased to think entirely as he watched the brunette's mouth and sinful tongue suck around the digit, just as sinfully as he would his cock when he got the chance.

He relaxed his hand back against his thigh and traced with his eyes the path where his brachial artery ran from his heart down his left arm, now hidden behind the hunched body leaning against him, and into his hand that was curled loosely on Elio's hip. He flexed his fingers gently, but did nothing to disturb the boy.

In fact, he hardly dared breathe for fear that he would wake the boy asleep on his body. This boy who was now in his sole care because of what he'd said and what he'd done. Because that's what he was - he was still a boy. It showed in the awkwardness of his limbs and his face that hadn't quite yet reached its full maturity, despite the beauty that was in every plane.

What had he done? He was scared right now, as he felt the train they were on speeding them towards the station where they would choose where to go. Where they would ride off into whatever future they decided. Onwards. He listened to the clatter of the train over wooden rails laid down by the fascists nearly fifty years ago to aid them in getting supplies and troops to the front lines of the war that their grandparents still remembered with the clearest minds. He tried to let the clatter of the wood steady out his pulse as they travelled onwards. Could they still turn back? Did he want to? Should he tell Elio to? He knew that would break both their hearts, and the completely selfish being inside of him wanted to do nothing less. He wanted to draw Elio into himself, to hold him, keep him safe, and of course he wanted to love him. He wanted to make love to him, and to be loved by him. It was utterly selfish, he knew this, but it was what had made him turn on the station platform and hold out his hand. He was taking him from those who cared for him utterly and unconditionally, but he just couldn't let him go. He wasn't sure he was strong enough to do that. Not yet at least.

The boy lying on his chest stirred in his sleep, his long eyelashes sweeping against his alabaster cheek. He didn't wake, but made a moue with his mouth, before once again relaxing into the sleep of youth, where so little troubled them.

Then Oliver wasn't scared anymore; it melted awsy like fresh snow on the mountainside in the morning sun. He felt his skin tingle as he watched him; this person who he'd invited into his life and who, in turn, had taken him into his bed. He didn't believe in fate, but something had made him turn those few hours ago on the station platform and ask him to join him. He'd needed Elio to come with him. He couldn't just leave and that be it - they'd shared something these past six weeks and he couldn't explain it. He felt like he might spend the rest of his life trying to sort out exactly what he and Elio shared. The base component was clear to him, but other than that it was so different to anything he'd ever felt before, so much more and at the same time utterly calming. Everything seemed to fade away when Elio jogged or sauntered up to his side, like a gangly puppy ready to play, a little unsure about how to place his limbs, his eagerness shining in his emerald eyes.

He had no doubt that what he felt sitting deep in the pit of his stomach was love for this creature, this gorgeous boy who had sidled into his life and firmly made his mark. Their first real interaction had been when Elio had dropped that book in order to wake him for dinner on his first night. The thought made Oliver smile as he remembered that moment. Elio thought he'd been subtle about waking him. It was about as subtle as a brick.

He stroked his hand gently on Elio's hip, his fingers worrying the hem of his t-shirt and just gently feeling the soft skin beneath. He turned and glanced out of the window watching the Italian countryside roll by. Where would they go from here? Would they stay in this country? He glanced back down at the boy; he'd let him decide. That boyish certainty hadn't yet left his veins, the utter conviction that what he felt was right and real. Maybe that would lead them to where they needed to go?

***

He wasn't asleep. Elio could almost hear the adrenaline rushing around Oliver's veins as he mulled over the events of the past few hours and how quickly both their lives had changed. He was listening to the steady beat of Oliver's heart underneath his ear as it drummed it's steady cadence throughout both their bodies. It was almost like they were connected again, with him hearing the inside of Oliver, and Oliver holding him close against his chest.

He stayed with his eyes shut, however, knowing that Oliver would appreciate time alone with his thoughts. If he'd of being wearing a pair of his bathing shorts they would have been the blue ones. Those were the ones that he had come to associate with Oliver's thoughtfulness, his need to occasionally withdraw into himself and to think. He was content to simply be near the other man at those times, to watch as his mind poured itself onto the paper in front of him, his best work often coming forth at those moments. At times he had wondered whether he ever looked like that when he was transcribing his music or composing.

He desperately hoped that Oliver wasn't having second thoughts. He'd felt the utter surety of the blond man's hand under his when he'd pulled him aboard the train and it had just felt so right in that moment. An extension of the night before when they'd danced in the streets, lost themselves in each other mouths under the streetlights and then found themselves in each others bodies under the sheets in their shared bed. He had wanted Oliver to take root in his body, to never leave, to be part of him forever, so that he didn't have to disappear from his bed and from his life. He'd felt sick, standing on that platform, as he waited to be torn in two.

But it hadn't happened. Instead, Oliver had offered his hand. And he'd taken it, and allowed himself to be pulled forward, to take that step and go wherever that hand may take him. It hadn't led him astray yet.

After they'd found a carriage of their own, and thrown themselves onto the bench as the train had lurched forward, almost taking the legs out from underneath them, he had felt a stab of something. Of sorrow for what he left behind on that platform. He was leaving behind the boy, and he knew now that he would have to become a man. He felt a shiver of guilt, but he pushed it down deep inside of him. His papa would understand, and through him, his mother would be alright as well. He told himself this to salve over that flash of guilt. LHe had not done this to hurt them, but to save himself. This had not been an act of malice, but one driven by desire. He simply couldn't bare to be without the man beside him, who he'd so newly found. He wasn't prepared to let him go. He didn't think he'd have had any chance at all to keep hold, so when the lifeline, in the form of Oliver's hand, had been proffered, he'd clung to it like a drowning man to a rope, and let himself be pulled aboard.

Once they'd sat down, he'd turned to the blond man and smiled the broadest of smiles, one that he saw reflected on Oliver's face. He'd looked about then, just to check they were free from prying eyes, before he leaned in to kiss the mouth of the other man, the curve of his bottom lip completely irresistible to his eyes. He must have kissed him a thousand times last night but it didn't matter, he could kiss him a thousand times more each time just to revel in the taste of his lips under his own.

Regardless of the briefest feelings of sorrow of guilt he could not bring himself to regret his decision. He felt Oliver shift ever so slightly under his cheek, feeling the muscles of his chest tense and then relax, and his fingers stroke very gently over the bare skin of his hip. It honestly didn't matter to him where they ended up as long as he could keep feeling the touch of Oliver's hand on his skin for just one more day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on my phone on my journey back from my vacation. Any typos are because of that! Either way, hope you enjoy the beginning of this. Got a feeling this is going to be another long one guys - hope you're up for it! 
> 
> Chapter Title = 'How Far I'll Go' by Alessia Cara (original recorded for Moana, disney movie - so?? :P)
> 
> Xxxx


	3. One For The Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the excitement at the beginning of this new story! I'm excited, that's for sure. 
> 
> Just a couple of notes; 
> 
> 1) This is my first time writing split perspective in the 3rd person, so I'm still trying to get used to. Any feedback on that aspect would be gratefully received - is it easy to tell when the narrator is perched on Elio's shoulder as opposed to Oliver's? 
> 
> 2) This story is clearly set in a pre-euro europe. I have no idea about the exchange rates/inflation between old european currencies, and after a wee bit of research have found out that it's very confusing! So any prices are a rough guesstimate - I exchanged what I imagine it would cost in dollars into the old currencies, but could only do it at the value as they stand in 2018, rather than 1986! Therefore, they're going to be very rough, take it with a pinch of salt! 
> 
> 3) Lots of Italian in this chapter. I decided to not to provide translations, especially when it's from Oliver's perspective, because he wouldn't understand it anymore than you or I do. I hope the gist of what is being said is easy enough to pick up by the context of the sentence. Again feedback gratefully received. 
> 
> 4) New chapters for this story will be up every Saturday or Sunday - decided to change from the middle of the week I'd said in the last chapter because it'll be easier for me to do it at the weekend! 
> 
> Chapter Title is 'One For The Road' by the Arctic Monkeys
> 
> Phew! Okay, well I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think my lovelies. xxxx

Oliver stood looking up at the board over his head, the large white letters and numbers denoting the trains, and the times at which they would depart, starting at the beginning of the day with trains that had already gone, all the way through to the last one that would pull out of the station just before midnight tonight. The clock, thudding past the seconds like the beating of his heart, was above the board. The list spiralled before his eyes and seemed to go on and on, with so many different possibilities. He wouldn’t even know where to begin looking, but seeing as he’d already decided to let his companion choose, it didn’t really matter. It was just for a moment, however, that he was overwhelmed by the amount of choices; and the fact that they were so small, with the world in front of them being so very large.

He figured that that was where his fear was coming from; before today, before six hours previously, all of his choices had effectively been made for him. His life was going to follow a set route and he was going to be comfortable, if unfulfilled, on that journey. He had his career, his loves, and his family all decided for him. Now he had every choice ahead of him; nothing was certain, and there was no path. It was terrifying.

He was standing on his own, as his companion had gone to use the phone box which they’d spotted in the corner once they’d reached the main station concourse. Elio had some phone calls to make. They hadn’t wanted to cause anyone any undue hurt by their actions. In fact, it had been he who had been selfish, he hadn’t thought about anyone else when he’d offered his hand to Elio. He didn’t know what Elio would say on the line to those who needed to speak to, or whether they would beg him to reconsider his actions. Would Elio change his mind? Oliver shifted his weight from foot to foot for a moment as he considered the possibility that he could be left stranded here, that Elio would want to go back. Then he shrugged it off, if that were to happen he’d survive. He wondered whether in making the choice to not go home again, he’d been closing off that part of his life for good, whether or not Elio had chosen to come with him. Would he go home again even if Elio left him here? He hoped he wouldn’t have to make that decision.

Then he felt a warm pressure on his hand and he looked to his side to see Elio stood there, facing determinedly forward. His eyes were red and slightly watery. It was clear he had been crying. It was also clear that he didn’t want to talk about it just yet, so Oliver squeezed his hand tightly to let him know that when he did feel like talking he would be here to listen. Elio turned his face towards his, so he pecked him lightly on the mouth, the soft curve of his bottom lip warm under his own. He didn’t think he would ever tire of kissing Elio. Even a soft peck like this caused a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t explain. There was only four inches between them in height; Elio standing to 6 foot 1 to his ridiculous 6 foot 5, but somehow Elio felt so much smaller to him. He wanted to hold him, to protect him, to shield him with his body.

‘Where do you want to go then?’ Oliver asked looking back at the board, ‘I have enough money in my account for tickets to wherever you’d like.’

‘The gambling paid off then?’ asked Elio with a smirk.

‘Told you it would,’ he replied, ‘Although I did also have some that my parents forwarded to me a few weeks ago, but I doubled it during my last game. I doubt I’ll be getting anymore from them any time soon.’

‘You’ll have to teach me how to play poker someday,’ said Elio, his eyes scanning the letters above them.

‘I will,’ he said, squeezing his hand lightly again, ‘Okay then, where are we going?’

Elio continued to read, his eyes darting across all of the different places and different options. What lives might await in each different one? Then he pointed, causing Oliver to follow where he was gesturing to.

‘Paris?’ he asked, a small smile gracing his lips, ‘How romantic.’

‘Shut up,’ said Elio shoving him gently, ‘That’s not why I picked it. I speak French – that might come in handy, _non_?’

‘ _Mais oui_ ,’ he said, causing Elio to giggle.

‘What?’ he asked, pretending to look offended but knowing that Elio didn’t really mean to make fun.

‘Your accent, French sounds so odd with an east coast twang,’ said Elio, ‘It’s alright, we’ll work on it when we get to Paris.’

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘Paris it is then. I’ll go and buy us the tickets. When is the next train?’

‘Two hours from now,’ said Elio, gesturing upwards, ‘We have to change in Vienna, with a four hour stop, and then it gets us to Paris tomorrow afternoon.’

He nodded, musing over it, ‘Quite the journey.’

Elio shrugged, ‘I’m ready.’

Oliver kissed his forehead again, ‘I know. Come on then.’

He loosed Elio’s hand to walk over to the ticket booth, where they joined a queue, Elio just behind his shoulder, rucksack slung on his back. He was carrying his duffel bag with all of his worldly possessions inside of it. He vaguely wondered if his parents would bin all of his stuff when he didn’t come home. He wouldn’t put it past them to be honest. There wasn’t anything back at home that he couldn’t live without. He would call them when he got to Paris, let them know that he wasn’t coming home. They would probably hang up on him. He guessed he should let them know he wasn’t dead though; he probably owed them that.

‘ _Prossimo!’_ the woman behind the ticket window called, gesturing them forward.

‘I’ll do it,’ whispered Elio as they approached, to which he shrugged and nodded. It made sense; his Italian was rudimentary at best.

‘ _Due biglietti per il prossimo treno per Parigi, per favore_ ,’ said Elio smoothly, standing in front of the window so the woman could hear him. Oliver felt a weird surge of pride go through his body as he listened to him seamlessly switch languages. He’d known that Elio was trilingual since the second day he’d known him, but somehow it still amazed him at his proficiency. His boy was so intelligent, and that turned him on no end. How did he get so lucky that this boy had agreed to be his? They’d never put a label on it, and he wondered if they should do just that, but there was no denying that the boy was his, and that he was the boy’s – whether they’d spoken about it or not. He had fallen hard for the brunette, and knew that there was very little he could do about that.

‘ _Identificazione?’_ said the woman in a bored tone, holding out her hand.

‘Oh yeah, here,’ said Elio fishing in his wallet before turning towards him, ‘She needs your ID.’

‘Figured,’ Oliver said, handing Elio his passport which he’d just taken out of the end pocket of his duffel bag. The woman took them both, looking at them carefully, before she stamped them with more force than was probably necessary. She was clearly having a bad day. Either that or she was just very very bored with her job. Then again, he reasoned, he’d be pretty bored if he had her job as well.

‘ _Sarà ₤55,000 per bigelietto,_ ’ she said to Elio, who turned once again to him, his face at once both apologetic and expectant.

He handed him the correct notes whilst musing on the faintly absurd nature of Italian Lira and the fact that the denominations were so high, and worth so little. What he’d just handed over was worth slightly less than $100. Whilst he’d been in the country he didn’t think he’d used anything less than a 200L coin, and that was when he’d bought a daily newspaper in the corner shop in Crema. He knew that 1L coins existed, but he couldn’t imagine them ever being used for anything, seeing as they were worth a fraction of a cent.

‘ _Due biglietti per Parigi. Sarà la piattaforma sette tra due ore_ ,’ said the woman, handing over two slips of card to Elio, who took them, and after looking at them carefully, put them in his wallet.

‘ _Grazie, senora_ ,’ said Elio and turned away from the booth, allowing the next group of people to approach the window. He put his passport away.

‘Alright,’ Oliver said, ‘We’ve got some time to kill before our train. I think we should change some money, don’t you?’

‘I don’t have much,’ said Elio, his face falling slightly, ‘But I’ll change what I have.’

‘It’s alright,’ he said, with a non-committal gesture, ‘I can pay for us until we get set up.’

‘I saw a bureau de change over by the phones when I was there,’ said Elio, dodging as a man carrying a suitcase nearly barged straight into him in his haste to get to his platform. Oliver nearly yelled after him, a sudden rush of annoyance flooding his body, but Elio motioned for him to ignore it.

‘I’ll get a job as soon as we get to Paris,’ Oliver said, turning back to the brunette.

‘Doing what do you think?’ asked Elio as they walked over to where they could change their Italian money into French.

‘Anything at first,’ he said with a shrug, ‘And then I’ll look into more academic work as soon as we’ve got a little bit of money coming in. Hopefully I’ll be able to find some people willing to play me at cards as well…’

Elio giggled, a gorgeous sound that made his face light up, the tears from earlier completely forgotten by now. All Oliver wanted to do was draw him to him and kiss him, and not let go. But they were in the middle of a busy station, and he knew that whilst Italians were fairly liberal when it came to love, their sort of love with still heavily proscribed by the older generation and by the church. They would have to be careful wherever they went.

**

Elio had been stood in front of the phones for at least five minutes, his tongue seemingly tied inside his mouth. He knew he had to call; he needed to let people know that he was alright. They would have expected contact from him by now, and if they didn’t hear soon then they would start to worry. That was the last thing he wanted. They didn’t deserve to worry and he didn’t want to inflict it upon anyone. He’d made a choice that he wanted to stick by, to stay with the incredible man who was standing by the destination boards, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to cause anyone undue pain. He hoped they’d understand.

He took a deep breath and reached for the phone, sliding some coins into the slot, before dialling the familiar number. He found himself almost wishing that nobody would pick up, so that he could just leave a message, but that wasn’t to be. There was a click and the phone on the other end was lifted.

_‘Ciao?_ ’

It was his father. Out of everyone who could have picked up the phone, this was the best possibility.

‘ _Papa, sono io,_ ’ Elio said.

‘Elio!’ said his father, ‘We were getting worried, are you alright?’

‘ _Si_ , _sto bene_ ,’ he said quietly, ‘I’m more than fine, actually.’

His father paused as he thought about what he’d just said, ‘Elio? What’s happening? Where is Oliver?’

Elio took a deep breath, ‘I’m with him, _papa_. I went with him.’

Complete and utter silence on the other end. He couldn’t even hear his father breathing.

Normally he was comfortable with silence between himself and his parents, but right now he felt the need to fill this void; to stuff the silence with words and hope that they would be heard in the right light.

‘I wanted to, _papa_ ,’ Elio said, ‘He asked me and I said yes. I want to be with him. I love him _papa_. I know that that might be confusing to you. _Anche per me é confuso._ I never thought that this would happen; but it did. _Mi dispiace papa_ , _non voglio ferirti_ , but I’ve got to do this. Otherwise I’ll regret it forever. I just have to see.’

There was another small pause and he heard his father take a breath before he spoke, ‘I know, _tesoro_ , I know.’

‘ _Tu fai?_ ’ Elio breathed as he fought down the lump that was building in his chest.

‘I could see it,’ said his father, ‘Growing between you these past few weeks. I could see that you had something more than most friends. It seemed to me like love, but I wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to disturb you and ask. I was worried your heart would break when he left. It seems that now I don’t need to worry.’

‘ _Oh papa_ ,’ Elio said, his eyes welling up with tears, ’ _Mi dispiace_ ,’

‘Don’t be sorry,’ said his father quietly, ‘I’m not angry. I’m glad you’re safe, and I love you. Remember that, and above all else remember that your home will be here for you if you need it. If you need to come home, know that we’ll be here.’

Elio couldn’t help it then, he burst into tears, ‘ _Papa, ti amo_. _E madre_ , try not to let her be too sad.’

‘She will be, I can’t pretend that she won’t be,’ said his father gruffly, and Elio could hear the tears in his voice as well, ‘But I can try make it easier for her.’

‘ _Grazie papa,_ for understanding,’ he said quietly.

‘Just let us know where you go, yes? Let us know when you’re settled, so that we know you’re safe,’

‘I will do,’ he promised.

‘You’re not going to America, I take it?’ his father asked, ‘I mean, you don’t have a visa.’

‘No, not to America,’ Elio said, ‘Oliver isn’t going home either. We’re going to go somewhere new.’

‘Alright,’ said his father, his voice gentle again, ‘Remember what I said. I’ll send some money to your checking account to tide you over. Just check in with us, yes, Elio? Remember we love you.’

‘I love you too, papa,’ Elio said, the tears running uncontrolled down his face, ‘I promise I didn’t do this to hurt you.’

‘I know you didn’t,’ said his father, ‘Sometimes you’ve just got to take the leap when the chance is given to you. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d have been as brave as you.’

‘ _Papa?’_

‘Ah, it doesn’t matter,’ said his father, his voice gruff, ‘That’s a story for another time. When I see you again, I’ll tell you.’

‘That’s a promise,’ Elio said, ‘I have to go now _papa_. Please let Marzia know, and tell her that I’ll call her when I know where I’m going. Give _mama_ a kiss from me.’

‘I will,’ said his father, ‘Be safe, Elio.’

‘Bye _papa_ ,’ he said, as the last few lira ticked away into the phone, and the line went dead, the dial tone ringing into his ear. He hung up the receiver, and then viciously rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, probably making them even more red than they already were. He felt as if his chest had been rung out like a sponge, but he pushed down whatever tears were still lingering. His father knew that he was safe, and he would try and explain to his mother what was going on. He wasn’t sure that she would be half as understanding as his father had been, but he was relieved that they both knew that he was alright. He took another deep breath and shucked his rucksack up onto his shoulders before turning back to the busy station concourse. People were toing and froing across the marble floor; some of them on their way back from a day at work, a handful of tourists milling about here and there, others clearly visiting family or meeting loved ones. He headed towards the departure boards where he knew he would find Oliver, the man who had offered him everything in return from him giving everything he had. As he spotted the back of the blond head, the strong shoulders with the duffel bag slung over the right one, the tall physique and long legs, he knew that he would do it again in a heartbeat.

Hours later, when they were riding through the dark on to the end of the line, Oliver was asleep, his gorgeous face relaxed into a picture of peace. It seemed like he’d finally succumbed to the exhaustion of the day’s events. He knew that Oliver had spent most of the day worrying about what he’d done, about what he’d asked of him, and he knew that he’d have to assuage that guilt again, probably more than once. Yes he was young, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t know his own mind.

Right now, however, they were in a compartment of their own, speeding forward to their new life. It was a scary thought, Oliver was right. They’d known each other six weeks and had been utterly swept away by the intensity of their feelings. Every time he looked across at the face of his lover, he couldn’t help but feel his heart in the back of his throat. He knew that this wasn’t normal; he didn’t have much experience of this sort of thing, but he knew that this wasn’t normal. That’s why he’d grabbed the opportunity with both hands when he’d had the chance, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it at all.

He leaned forward and opened his rucksack, shoving a few items out of the way as he reached for the small notebook he’d brought with him. He started to write; he’d always been one for journaling, or scribbling things down when the mood took him. Right now seemed like an apt time to try and spill all of these jumbling thoughts onto the paper in front of him.

The old train clattered on, slower because it was heading into the mountains, the engine pulling it steadily up the tracks. He thought they’d probably crossed the border with Austria a few hours ago, and it wouldn’t be overly long until they were pulling into Vienna. For some reason, despite it being the middle of the night, he wasn’t tired. His mind was alight with all of the possibilities that awaited them. Once he’d made the phone call to his father it was as if the worries had dropped away from his shoulders and excitement had taken their place. That same excitement was still singing its way through his veins, pushing sleep far away from his mind. He paused in his writing for a moment to glance out into the blackness surrounding the windows. It didn’t scare him at all; in fact it seemed like a blank canvas into which he and Oliver were racing, ready to make their own mark, undictated by anyone else, aside from themselves.


	4. Go Your Own Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who gave me feedback on the last chapter - apologies if I haven't yet replied. I've had a pretty shit week personally having found out that I'm probably going to have say goodbye to my gorgeous doggie in the near future (he's pretty old), but it still really really sucks. Just know that your comments mean the world to me and they really do lift my spirits. Love you all. 
> 
> Chapter title: 'Go Your Own Way' by Fleetwood Mac. 
> 
> Love
> 
> V  
> xxx

The Gare De L’est was extremely busy. It was nearing lunchtime as they got off the train and stood for a moment, wide eyed, in the middle of the concourse. They both seemed a little rooted to the spot, with the question of ‘now what?’ in both of their minds. They’d briefly discussed what they were going to do when they got here; they knew they needed to find somewhere to live, but that that would be difficult when they very first arrived. They would need to get their bearings first.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘Let’s go find a hotel for the afternoon and night. We can figure out what to do next from there.’

‘Sure,’ said Elio, stepping close to his side, and looking about in amazement at the sheer volume of humanity around them.

‘Keep your arm on your rucksack,’ he said, ‘I imagine there’s loads of pickpockets around here.’

Elio nodded, drawing his rucksack under his right arm rather than leaving it on his back. It was hot here, even in the station, with the late August Parisian sunshine beating through the glass roof. It would be hot out in the city, and he had no real desire to spend overly long looking for a place to stay for the night. He had enough money to find them somewhere half decent, and then at least they could rest and plan their next move.

They headed out of the station, avoiding the attentions of a woman trying to sell postcards of the Eiffel Tower. Elio was utterly wide eyed by his side, looking up in all directions as they entered one of the streets leading away from the station.

‘I thought you said you’d been to Paris before?’ he asked, switching the shoulder his duffel bag was on, as it was causing his neck to ache.

‘I have,’ said Elio absently, still looking around, ‘But I was only eight, so I don’t really remember much.’

He smiled at Elio’s excitement, and the spring he seemingly had in his step as they wandered down a few streets and across a few more. He spotted a likely looking place after about a ten-minute walk, on a street with many hotels and places to stay. It didn’t look too posh or too expensive, but equally it didn’t look like they would get fleas from laying down on the beds. Slumming it wasn’t really his style. According to a sign on the street name above his head, they were somewhere in the second arrondisement.

‘Let’s try this one over here,’ he said, gesturing to the hotel he’d sized up. Inside it was relatively airy, and a welcome break from the sweltering heat of the city streets, even if they’d only been outside for twenty minutes at most. He could feel the sweat trickling down his spine.

‘ _Bonjour monsieur_ ,’ he said, testing out his best French on the receptionist, he hoped that Elio wouldn’t giggle at his accent again.

‘ _Une chambre pour deux nuits s‘il vous plait_ ,’ he said.

‘ _Juste un monsieur?_ ’ asked the receptionist, looking at the pair of them. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d said, so he looked across at Elio for some help.

‘ _Oui, un. Avec un lit double s’il vous plait monsieur_ ’ said Elio, stepping up to the counter with something of a smirk on his face.

‘ _Bon, ça va être 120 francs par nuit, la moitié maintenant, la moitié quand vous passez à la caisse,’_ said the receptionist carefully, keeping his face blank at whatever Elio had just said to him.

‘What did he say?’ he asked Elio.

‘We have to pay half now, and half when we check out,’ said Elio, ‘I think I’ve got enough for the half now.’

‘No, it’s okay,’ he said, getting his wallet out of his bag and finding the correct amount of money before handing it over.

‘ _Votre chambre est au quatrième étage. L'ascenseur est cassé, les escaliers sont au bout du couloir,’_ said the receptionist handing them a key with a heavy tag on it.

‘ _Merci_ ,’ said Elio, taking it and turning away, taking his hand at the same time.

‘What did you say to him?’ he asked as they walked away. He could practically feel the receptionists eyes boring into their back as they walked down the corridor.

‘Oh he was just being an ass,’ said Elio, ‘He asked whether we were sure we only wanted one room, so I told him that we did, and to be sure that it had a double bed in it.’

He couldn’t help but burst out laughing at Elio’s words, and squeezing his hand, ‘Good thing to. Not sure I could deal with twin beds right now.’

‘We have to take the stairs,’ said Elio, ‘We’re on the fourth floor, and he said the lift was broken.’

‘Excellent,’ he said, realising just how tired his legs were as he contemplated walking up four flights of stairs. Oh well, there was nothing for it, and there would be a comfy bed waiting for him at the end of it.

‘Come on old man,’ teased Elio, hopping up the first flight.

‘You have far too much energy for someone who has been travelling all night and all of yesterday,’ he grumbled without much bite as he followed him up.

‘But Oliver,’ Elio said excitedly looking down at him from the middle of the second flight, ‘We’re in Paris!’

He couldn’t help but laugh and run up after him. There was no one on the stairs to see as he caught the smaller boy around the waist and kissed him deeply, Elio’s mouth opening wantonly beneath his. He crowded him against the wall, feeling the slighter body beneath his practically melt against his larger form.

‘Come on,’ he growled against Elio’s neck, ‘Otherwise I’m just going to want to fuck you in the corridor; which would give that receptionist something to really disapprove of.’

Elio panted against his neck in turn, and he could feel his growing hardness in his jeans, pushing against his thigh. Elio was the first to move when he let him go, and grabbing his hand, they took the stairs quickly to find their room. It was right at the end of the corridor on the fourth floor, and they had a bit of a battle with the lock, but once they were inside he could see that he’d made a good choice. It was relatively simple, but it looked clean and comfortable. The ensuite bathroom boasted a large bath with a double shower standing separately in the corner. He would definitely be making use of the bath later; perhaps with Elio if the boy hadn’t passed out with exhaustion by then. But right now, he was like the energiser bunny, running to the window and throwing it open, to look out on the street below. They could see the spires of Notre Dame if they looked along the boulevard and across the river which twinkled in the distance, criss-crossed by many of the famous bridges. Elio laughed joyously as he looked out.

‘Paris!’ he shouted out of the window and then turned back to him, his face flushed with joy. He barely had time to open his arms as Elio rocketed towards him and threw himself into them, making them both fall backwards onto the double bed.

‘I want you to fuck me so hard that that receptionist can hear me scream,’ Elio murmured in his ear as wandering hands started to make fast work of his buttons.

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

**

It was nearing six in the evening by the time he woke up. After they’d had (very loud) sex, Oliver had disappeared to take a shower, and he, Elio, had fallen fast asleep in the vastly comfy double bed in the room. The lack of sleep from the previous night had caught up with him and it had taken him only moments to drift off. When he awoke, Oliver was still gently sleeping next to him. He could tell it wasn’t exactly deep sleep, however, as every few moments he’d shift or move.

‘Oliver?’ he whispered gently, not wanting to startle the other man, no matter how lightly he was sleeping.

‘Mmmm?’ came the murmured half-asleep reply a few seconds later.

‘Do you want to go and find something to eat?’ Elio asked, ‘I’m starving.’

A slight pause, ‘Go on then. Supposed we can’t stay here all night?’

Oliver pushed the duvet back off his body, revealing his nakedness to the room and to Elio, who’s eyes appreciatively raked his body.

‘Well, as appealing as that might be,’ said Elio, looking at him, ‘I can’t actually live off sex alone.’

Oliver chuckled, ‘Could’ve fooled me.’

‘Oh trust me,’ said Elio, ‘If all I needed was sex, then you wouldn’t get a moments rest, old man.’

‘Old man?!’ spluttered Oliver with fake indignation, ‘I prefer “seasoned lover” thank you very much.’

Elio didn’t say anything, but just giggled in response, before sliding out of bed and finding the pants he’d been wearing earlier, along with his jeans.

‘That’s another thing I’ll need to do some point soon; find some new clothes. I only have what I took to Rome with me.’

‘Yeah well I don’t have too much either,’ said Oliver, looking over at his duffel bag, ‘Got a feeling shorts aren’t going to cut it in Paris in Fall. They’re alright at the moment but…’

‘Yeah,’ said Elio, pulling his t-shirt on, ‘As boring as it is, we’re going to need to go shopping. Now, come on! Food!’

Oliver still hadn’t moved out of bed, and was just lying there, without the duvet, looking at the ceiling. He made a noise crossed between a growl and a groan as he moved.

‘Well if you don’t want to eat, I can just leave you here,’ said Elio with a chuckle.

‘No, no,’ said Oliver, ‘I’m hungry enough to eat a horse, it’s just so much effort, and the bed was pretty comfortable.’

‘It is isn’t it?’ Elio agreed as he reached for a jacket, ‘Maybe tomorrow morning we can have a lie in? Just wile away the hours, in bed..? Before we have to go and do serious things like finding a place to live and finding some work…’

‘That sounds like an excellent plan,’ said Oliver as he finished getting dressed, and grabbed his wallet out of his pocket, ‘Right, where are we going?’

Elio shrugged, his hands still in the pockets of his jeans, ‘I thought we could just head towards the river, and explore a bit.’

‘It’ll probably be super expensive to eat around there,’ said Oliver.

‘We could explore some of the backstreets around there? See what we can find? I’d just like to get my bearings a bit,’ said Elio, ‘I don’t really know.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Oliver with a gentle smile, which made Elio’s insides feel all warm. It made Oliver’s face so soft and gentle, and whenever that smile graced his face, Elio felt safe and protected by the other man. He’d never thought that he would one who would like to feel _protected_ , he’d never needed it before in his life. He realised, however, it probably wasn’t because he needed to be protected, but just that it was nice to feel that he was, necessity or not.

‘Come on then,’ said Oliver once he’d run his hand through his hair a few times in front of the long mirror, holding his hand out for Elio to take. The other thing he liked was how small he was compared to the blond man. Sure, they were nearly of the same height, give or take a few inches, but Oliver was just _bigger_ ; broader, bigger hands, bulkier muscles, wider chest. Elio felt a bit like a scarecrow next to him, whereas the other man was a full-blown Adonis. Oliver had commented that it had taken him several years to grow into his body, and that as a teen he’d been gangly and unsure what to do with his extra-long limbs. Elio had tried to picture this, to imagine Oliver as a teenager, but he found it very difficult. Oliver existed to him only as the man he knew now, the one who had exited that too-small car some seven weeks ago, and walked straight into his life. It was as if he’d entered this world perfectly formed to be who he was for Elio, and his life before hadn’t really existed. Elio knew that this was silly, and that of course Oliver had a past and a history, but it was difficult for him to comprehend that. For him, at least, his life was divided into two distinct sections; before-Oliver and with-Oliver. It seemed to revolve around that crucial point when that duck egg blue car had arrived on the driveway of the villa.

They left the hotel and headed up the broad street in the general direction of the river. Elio’s head was spinning as he looked for left to right, trying to take it all in. He’d visited two capital cities within a few days of each other, and he was amazed by everything that he’d seen. Of course, Paris and Rome we extremely different. Rome felt ancient and crowded, buzzing with life as the streets jumbled cheek by jowl on top of each other, history spilling out of the very streets beneath his feet. Paris was ancient as well, but it felt as if there was a modern veneer over the top, an elegance and a beauty designed and crafted by Georges-Eugene Haussmann under the direction of Napoleon. It was he who’d directed all these wide streets, tall white facades, and elegant walkways to spaces within the urban centre.

‘Let’s go this way,’ Elio said randomly, grabbing Oliver’s hand and pulling him off the main thoroughfare down a side walkway as they approached the river. There was small _boulangeries_ here, closed now, but ready to open in the morning to provide mouth-watering breakfast pastries to Parisians on the way to work. There was a stationer’s shop just nearby, next to shop selling hats and fascinators. It was quiet down here, apart from some cafes, one of which had gentle piano music playing from the inside. They turned down another side street, following a smell of garlic. The smell of garlic was always a good place to start when looking for a place to eat. They arrived in front of what looked like a bar; it was packed full of people, most of them speaking French, from which the smell of garlic was emanating.

‘Here?’ asked Elio, glancing at Oliver.

‘Smells good,’ said Oliver, peering inside, ‘Not sure we’ll get a table though; it’s pretty busy.’

‘We could wait a bit though?’ asked Elio, ‘I mean, we’re not in a huge rush.’

‘True,’ said Oliver, ‘Come on then.’

They walked in through open door, the warmth and noise of the inside washing over them the moment they stepped inside. It was _not_ cold outside (it being late summer), but in here it was even warmer because of the amount of people in the bar.

‘There’s a table over there,’ said Oliver, pointing around Elio to the right.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Elio, ‘I’ll get it. Will you go to the bar and get a drink?’

‘Sure,’ said Oliver, ‘What would you like?’

‘Whatever the house red is?’ said Elio, ‘As long as it’s not too expensive?’

Oliver nodded and disappeared towards the bar whilst Elio went to grab the table in the corner. He briefly glanced at the small card that was on the table and smiled. It said _Menu du jour: commander avec Martine_. So there was only one option for food, and it was whatever was making that delicious smell that was wafting around the entire place. He wondered who Martine was, and how he would know who to order with. He guessed that most of the regulars must know Martine by sight, but he obviously wouldn’t have that advantage.

He glanced around the bar, trying to see if he could spot anyone who looked like they might be a waitress, or even someone who just worked in the place. He couldn’t really see much though, as there was a fairly smoky atmosphere to the place, and people kept coming and going through the building. There was two young girls, sitting at the table just across from him, giggling quietly to themselves. There were several families eating, and he noticed that one of the families had their pet dog (it looked like a Bernese Mountain Dog) lying at their feet, like a ginormous fluffy rug. It must be very hot in here.

A moment later Oliver wound his way through the people with two glasses of wine in one large hand, and a bottle of tap water in the other.

‘Good idea,’ said Elio, ‘Thanks.’

‘So what’s on the menu?’ asked Oliver.

‘Still don’t know,’ said Elio, ‘There’s only one option, and you have to ask Martine. I’m going to just head to the bar and find out.’

‘Alright,’ said Oliver, ‘Whatever it is it smells amazing. When you get to the bar, asked for Alexandre, he’s the owner and he’s tending bar.’

‘You’re not allergic to anything, are you?’ asked Elio, turning back just after he got up.

‘No,’ said Oliver with a grin, ‘Unless you count the time I was sick after eating carrot soup. Don’t think that was an allergy though; I just hate the stuff.’

‘No carrot soup,’ said Elio with a grin, ‘Alright.’

He turned away and walked towards the bar. It felt vaguely odd to ask Oliver whether he had any allergies; it felt like it was something that he should already know, but he hadn’t until just now. He’d thrown his life in with this man, and yet there was so much they didn’t know about each other. He supposed it didn’t really matter, but it just felt a little bit strange to have to fill in these gaps at this point, rather than having that prior knowledge that most couples at this stage would have. That was another thing that he found rather odd; the word “couple” – were he and Oliver a couple? He assumed that they absolutely must be, but the idea of him calling Oliver his “boyfriend” just felt faintly absurd. They clearly were together, but the word _boyfriend_ , just felt so wholly inadequate to explain what they had.

He found a spot at the bar, claiming the space with his elbows, next to short man who was wearing a bowler hat and a willowy tall girl wearing a feather boa. There was definitely an eclectic mix of people in this place, and Elio knew that he must look starry eyed and amazed as he tried to take everything and everybody in.

‘ _Que puis-je vous obetenir, mec?’_

Elio was slightly taken aback that the guy looking at him had effectively just called him “dude”, but he shook off his surprise to ask what the food was.

‘ _Poulet salade Cesar et pain fair maison, d’accord?’_ the man said, ‘ _En voudrais tu?_ ’

‘ _Oui, deux, s’il vous plait,’_ he said.

‘ _Où êtes-vous assis?’_ the guy asked.

‘ _Là bas’_ said Elio gesturing towards the table he was sitting at with Oliver, who was talking to one of the two girls who’d been sat opposite. Her friend had disappeared.

‘ _D’accord_ ,’ said the guy, ‘18₣’

Elio fished in his wallet that was in his jacket pocket for the money. That was exceedingly cheap. They’d clearly stumbled on a good place.

‘ _Martine le rapportera_ ,’ said the guy, handing him his 2₣ change out of the twenty note he’d given over.

‘ _Merci_ ,’ said Elio, turning away and heading back to the table. He guessed that the slightly brusque man must be Alexandre, as he was the only person behind the bar. He wondered how Oliver had gotten his name. When he got back to the table, the girl was gone.

‘Who was the girl?’ asked Elio, sitting down.

Oliver grinned sheepishly, ‘That was _Saphir._ ’

‘Sapphire?’ asked Elio sceptically, his eyebrow raised, ‘Oh yes?’

‘Yes, she was wanting to know whether I was spending the evening alone, and whether I might enjoy her company… for a price of course.’

‘Oh wow,’ said Elio, his eyes wide as he looked around, trying to see whether he could spot either of the girls from earlier, ‘I’ve never actually met a real-life prostitute before.’

Oliver chuckled, ‘Well they definitely exist. I gently turned her down. I think she was just bored because her companion Étoile had disappeared.’

‘Wow,’ said Elio, ‘Sapphire and Star? I’m guessing that those aren’t their real names.’

‘Probably not,’ said Oliver with a chuckle, ‘Anyway. _Cheers_. Here’s to tomorrow.’

Oliver raised his wine glass, and Elio did the same, gently clinking their glasses together. Elio kept eye contact with Oliver as they both took a drink, Oliver’s hand was on his thigh under the table, warm through his jeans, gentle yet firm in its pressure against his body. The wine was good, and slid down his throat to create a warm glow in gullet.

‘To tomorrow,’ Elio breathed as he put his wine glass down, and leaned over to gently peck Oliver on the lips. Tomorrow might be unknown, but right in that moment it felt utterly full of every promise that could be offered.

 


	5. Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who messaged about the last chapter. Your comments really do keep me going and inspire me to keep writing. Let me know what you thought about this chapter! xxx
> 
> Chapter Title: Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) by Eurythmics

The night was balmy when they stepped out into the dark from the light and laughter of Alexandre’s bar. The food had been absolutely delicious, as the earlier smell had attested to, and Oliver had had second helpings. They’d also got chatting to Martine after she’d brought the food over, and learnt that Alexandre’s was one of the only authentic bars left on this street, with most of the others being tourists traps. She did, however, recommend that they checked out the hole in the wall at the end of the road – they didn’t serve food, but apparently they had the best cognac to be found in Paris. That is, if either of them liked that sort of thing. Elio admitted flat out that he’d never drunk cognac before in his life, and Oliver said that the one that he had had hadn’t been that great, so he’d never really had the desire to try it again. Martine told them to try out the bar, and then come back with their verdict. They promised her at they would, just as she was shouted back to the bar by a grumpy looking Alexandre.

‘I wonder whether he always looks like that?’ Elio had mused as they’d sat after they’d finished eating. They had no desire to rush anywhere, and no particular place to be, so they were both quite content to simply sit and watch the comings and goings of the people in the place.  

‘Probably,’ said Oliver, glancing over at Alexandre, who was serving a boy of about fifteen years of age at the absolute oldest, ‘He doesn’t seem like someone who is big on smiling.’

Elio giggled, drinking the last of his second, no third, glass of wine. Not that anyone was really counting; the wine was cheap as well as good in here.

‘Well you’re going to sleep like a baby tonight,’ said Oliver, eyeing him closely. His boy was slightly flushed, but not overly so, and his eyes were bright with excitement and the alcohol.

‘What?’ asked Elio, a sleepy grin on his face.

‘You always do when you’ve been drinking,’ said Oliver with a shrug.

‘Huh,’ said Elio, musing on that, ‘When did you find this out?’

‘Well, one of the nights was the last night in Rome, just a couple of nights ago, you were completely out of it whilst I was wide awake,’ he said, a soft smile passing over his face as he remembered. His fingers toyed with a drink mat on the table as he thought about it.  

Elio looked across at him, ‘Not sure that had as much to do with the wine as to do with the crazy amount of sex we’d had. You’d worn me out.’

‘Well, that too,’ he said with a grin, ‘But seriously, a freight truck could have driven through that room and I doubt you’d have woken up.’

Elio blushed a little, a soft pink creeping up his cheeks, adding on top of the flush that the red wine had already given him. Oliver couldn’t help but smile in response, wanting to draw the boy close to him and just hold him tight. He was certain the Elio didn’t realise how absolutely _fucking_ gorgeous he was, and he vowed to keep trying to show him every day. He knew that Elio existed with a kind of easy confidence that came with youth and the fact that his parents had been ridiculously supportive and open-handed as he was growing up. The fact that anyone would desire him was a given, but he knew that Elio sometimes found it difficult to accept, despite his outward desires.

‘Come on then,’ Oliver said, ‘I think we should head back. We’ve got to find our way in the dark.’

They’d left Alexandre’s into the dark and wandered into the street, back in the general direction of their hotel.

‘Olivvveeeerrr,’ Elio sung as he danced a few paces in front, that last of wine clearly going straight to his head. It had been a very large glass of wine. Not that Oliver disapproved; he thought it was endearing, if anything.  

‘Yeeeeesss?’ he said, elongated his vowels to imitate the other.

Elio skipped up to wall, flooded in the light of a nearby street lamp and turned back to him, his eyes dancing with a certain mischief, ‘Kiss me like you did in Rome.’

A chuckle escaped his lips as he took a step closer. His boy was so beautiful, so bubbling with a tender innocence that he couldn’t quite fathom. He was sure that he must have had something like it at some point, but felt as if that had long disappeared from his life. Being close to Elio reminded him of it, and brought a little bit of that back.

He looked down at Elio, who was currently playing with his Star of David in his mouth, his little pink tongue poking at the miniscule holes in the gold. Oliver was momentarily mesmerised watching his mouth work over the metal, before Elio let it fall from his lips, leaving his mouth blissfully free, and slightly open, panting slightly with the alcohol coursing through his veins. He kissed him then, capturing that soft sinful bow with his own mouth, and cupping the side of Elio’s face with his hands, crowding him back against the wall that Elio had picked for this rendezvous. He didn’t recognise this tight feeling in his chest that both felt so good, and also made him so goddamned scared. All he knew was that he didn’t want it to stop.

This couldn’t be like the kiss they’d shared in Rome, because, despite his doubts, Oliver had thought that that kiss was going to be one of their last. As such he’d poured absolutely every part of himself into Elio that night, wanting him to carry something of him even when he’d gone. He’d wanted to draw the boy into him, to always hold onto him, to have the kiss stop time so they could just have stayed there forever. Now he knew that that kiss was just going to be one of many, and that he was going to get to hold his boy again and again, and kiss him like that whenever he felt like it. So, this kiss was different. It was amazing, the feeling of Elio’s body against his, firm and strong whilst also being delicate, but the kiss lacked desperation. It didn’t need it; for he was no longer desperate. At that very moment he would have even described himself as peaceful. Maybe that was the wine talking.

He could feel Elio’s hands on his hips, sliding around to put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and pull him closer, the beginnings of Elio’s hard-on against his thigh. He smirked as Elio moaned into his mouth after he tugged on the short curls at the nape of his neck. He thought he would probably convince him to grow his hair out; he liked it now that it was getting a little bit longer; it made the boy look even more fey like that he had over the summer.

He broke the kiss a moment later, resting his forehead against Elio’s, a smile playing on both their lips.

‘Good enough?’ he asked with a smirk.

‘I think you’ll pass,’ said Elio, sliding his hands out of his pockets and one of them into his own. Oliver had always loved how soft Elio’s hands were, apart from the tips of his fingers, which were hardened from years of playing the piano and the guitar. He gave his hand a squeeze as they stood, just wrapped up in each other for a moment or two more.  

An almighty crash broke them out of their cocoon of two a moment later, which was immediately followed by some angry French swearing. He looked down at Elio, who shrugged, and they stepped out and around the corner of the street they were standing on, to see a large pile of boxes, some of them upended, whilst one of them had collapsed, and books spilled out on the street. A woman of at least seventy was crouched alongside them, swearing under her breath.

‘ _si je n'ai jamais à revoir un autre livre putain…’_ she was muttering, as she tried to gather the books towards herself. Elio giggled as she grumbled.

‘What did she say?’ Oliver asked.

‘She’s just taking her frustration out on the books,’ said Elio before stepping forward, ‘ _Excusez-moi madame, avez-vous besoin d’aide?_ ’

The woman jumped, startled by the sound of Elio’s voice, before peering up at the pair of them. She was wearing big glasses, and had her shirt sleeves rolled up past her elbows. There was a raw strength about her small form, despite her age, and Oliver was immediately given a sense that this was not a woman to be double crossed.

‘ _Bonjour,’_ she said, ‘ _Si ca ne vous derange pas, ce serai genial_ ’

‘ _Aucun probleme_ ,’ said Elio, ‘ _ou vont-ils?_ ’

The woman gestured to a dark doorway just to her left, which had a sign over the doorway that said ‘ _Libraires de Paris puisque 1559_ ’ or Booksellers of Paris since 1559. Oliver’s eyebrows shot up as his shoddy French translated this. He was always slightly taken aback by things this old; coming from America, the oldest buildings you could expect to see were a couple of hundred at the absolute outside. It always reminded him how much history Europe had to offer, and how comparatively new everything was in the US. Elio poked him in the ribs suddenly and gestured to the large pile of boxes. Oliver nodded and bent down to pick the first of the pile up.

**

The woman, Madame Bernard, her name turned out to be, was absolutely fascinating, and Elio wasted no time chatting to her in French as he and Oliver lugged various boxes inside from the street. She turned the lights on inside the building, and showed them where the books were stored; in a room along the corridor with a door onto the left. The shop itself was in darkness, but Mme. Bernard gestured to the three areas leading off the main thoroughfare that was the main bookshop. Elio could just see in the light from the storeroom, and the glow from the streetlamps outside, bookshelves that were absolutely stacked, creaking on top of one another, volumes cheek by jowl. He learned that she owned the shop, and had done for forty years, since her father had died and left it to her. Apparently, it had been badly damaged during the Nazi occupation of Paris in the 1940s, after it had been discovered that her father had been providing resistance literature to Parisians. He’d barely escaped with his life, but had returned following the liberation.

‘Why have the books delivered at night?’ asked Elio, as he lifted another of the books into the corridor, following Mme Bernard, who was definitely stronger than she looked, despite her age.

‘They don’t allow trucks or vans down these streets during the day because of all the pedestrians, so I have to take deliveries at night, same as all the other shops around here,’ she replied, ‘But normally the man who drops them off, helps me take them inside. Today it was some new boy, who just pushed them out onto the street and drove off. He was really late as well.’

‘Not helpful,’ said Elio sympathetically.

‘Not really,’ she said, ‘Which is why I was swearing…’

‘And you don’t have anyone to help you?’ asked Elio.

‘Not since my nephew went off to university in England, and the guy he found to replace him ran off with the contents of the till a couple of weeks ago,’ said Mme. Bernard, her voice suddenly very weary.

‘That really sucks,’ said Elio, ‘I’m sorry,’

‘It’s not your fault dear,’ she said, ‘It’s just a good thing you were just around the corner when I dropped all of those books. I think I might have just left them there if you hadn’t offered to help. It can get quite tiring at times.’

‘I’ll bet,’ mused Elio as they walked back into the street, passers-by looking on curiously at the dwindling pile of boxes as they hurried on into the night.

‘Oh, can you just put that box inside the main room door,’ said Mme. Bernard to Oliver as he picked up a slightly smaller box, marked with a ‘x’ unlike all of the others. Oliver looked at Elio with his eyebrows raised as he quickly translated into English for him.

‘He doesn’t speak French?’ she asked, as Oliver did as he was bid.

‘Not really,’ said Elio, ‘He’s from America, and I’m from Italy, we just got here earlier today.’

‘Oh, incredible,’ she said, ‘On holiday?’

Elio shrugged, ‘Um, it’s a little difficult to explain, but something like that.’

Mme. Bernard looked back and forth between the pair of them, and then simply shrugged, ‘Will you be staying in Paris long?’

Again, Elio shrugged, ‘I don’t really know; we have no plans to go anywhere else at the moment.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she said, as Oliver dropped the last of the boxes into the storeroom. They were all neatly stacked on top of one another; at least twenty of them, waiting to be unpacked.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.

Elio told her, ‘Although we’re obviously going to need to find somewhere else quite quickly, as we can’t afford to keep staying in a hotel.’

‘Hmmm,’ she agreed, looking between the pair of them, ‘Are you free tomorrow lunchtime? If you come by, and help me unpack these boxes and put things right, I can pay you for your time.’

Elio nodded without even thinking about it, ‘Sure! Yeah, we can do that. Lunchtime, you say?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘The shop is open from lunchtime until 8pm every day, as that’s when this area gets the most people around; people going to walk up the Seine, see Notre-Dame and the like.’

‘Ah okay,’ said Elio, ‘That’s not a problem. We’ll be here.’

‘Excellent,’ she said, still eyeing them beadily, ‘I’ll see you then, then,’

Elio nodded, ‘Have a good night _Madame_.’

With that final exchange, they both stepped back out onto the street and Mme. Bernard locked the door behind them.

‘What was that about?’ asked Oliver as they set off again, ‘It sounded like you were agreeing something.’

‘We were,’ said Elio, ‘She wants someone to help her out the shop tomorrow, and she said that she would pay us for our time; I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to say yes to some money.’

‘That’s true,’ said Oliver, ‘Whatever we’ve got between us definitely isn’t going to last forever. Also, perhaps because she knows the area, she’ll know of somewhere we can go to look to live?’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Elio, slipping his hand back into Oliver’s, and stifling a yawn with the other hand, ‘What time is it?’

‘Getting on for one I’d imagine,’ said Oliver, looking around for a church spire, whose clock would tell them precisely. Elio had left his watch on the bedside table.

‘Mmmm,’ said Elio, nuzzling his face into his Oliver’s shoulder as they walked, ‘That bed was very comfy this afternoon, and we don’t have to be back here until later tomorrow.’

‘You’re actually excited for a lie-in?’ said Oliver, amused.

‘Just because you like to get up at a ridiculous time in the morning,’ grumbled Elio, ‘Doesn’t mean we all do.’

‘I only did that back in Italy because I didn’t want to miss Mafalda’s breakfasts,’ said Oliver, ‘And it was just so gorgeous there…’

He trailed off, and Elio looked up at him, pausing to press a kiss through the sleeve of his t-shirt, to the bicep underneath. It was just a gesture of comfortable cosiness, and Oliver smiled down at him before moving his arm from his grip, to put it around his shoulder, drawing him into his shoulder. There was a slight smell of manliness around Oliver that hadn’t been there earlier, as he’d started to sweat from lifting the boxes at the bookshop. Elio revelled in it, the smell of just _Oliver_ , with the usual undertone of peppermint, wood smoke, and fresh book pages that Elio associated with him.

They found their way back to the hotel after about twenty minutes of walking. Despite it being early in the morning, or late at night depending on perspective, there were still plenty of people around. This was to be expected, Elio figured, it was Paris after all. There were people from all walks of life crowded into this city, it made sense that they would be up at all hours. He just wasn’t used to seeing it; back in Crema if he’d have taken it upon himself to wander about at this time, the place would have been utterly silent, with the whole locality deep in the slumber that the night brought with it.

It wasn’t difficult to fall asleep, despite them both having slept in the afternoon. It had been a full on seventy-two hours, and with everything new around them, it had probably taken it out of the pair of them. Elio fell asleep tucked into Oliver’s side, the warmth of his body something that he was still getting used to, but equally something that he revelled in. The last few nights that they’d been in the villa, before Rome, he’d snuck into Oliver’s bed each night after everyone had gone to bed, and after they’d made love, they’d fall asleep together. In Rome, they had, of course, shared. He felt Oliver shift slightly next to him, before he fell asleep in the darkness of the comfortable room.


	6. To Take You Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they land on their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who provided feedback on the last chapter. This one is a little longer than normal... hope you like it! Extra points if anyone spots the feminist theory that I unapologetically shoved in this chapter! 
> 
> xxx
> 
> Chapter title: 'To Take You Home' by Frank Turner

Oliver was still asleep when Elio awoke the following morning. For all his talk of being an early riser, Oliver was still absolutely spark out of it, lost in sleep, despite the early morning sunshine peeking in through a crack in the curtains. Elio rolled onto his front to look down at the Adonis who had deigned to share his bed for an indeterminate amount of time. He couldn’t actually fathom it in his mind as he watched Oliver breathe deep and slow, his face perfectly relaxed. He wasn’t even sure if he was dreaming; he seemed too peaceful.

Elio looked down his body, the long lean lines of his chest that were on show because the bedsheets had slipped down as he moved about as he slept. It had slid down to his naval and Elio couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over the expanse of smooth muscle, and the v of his hips that disappeared down under the sheet. He leaned down and placed a kiss on Oliver’s chest, just to see whether it might wake him up. Oliver didn’t stir. He felt like a signet whose white feathers were still splotched with grey and sticking up in different directions, compared to this man who was mostly definitely a swan.

By now he was wide awake. He started to kiss down Oliver’s body, working his way towards the edge of the bedsheet, that by now was slowly being tented by Oliver’s morning woody. Elio had been wrong; he was definitely dreaming; and dreaming of something good. He had a small smile on his face, but was definitely still asleep. Elio edged the bedsheet down over his hips, kissing softly down the muscles that curved over his hipbones, until he reached the soft blond curls at the crease of his groin. He couldn’t help but breathe in, enjoying the wonderful smell of simply _Oliver_. He let his cheek lay against the softness of Oliver’s inner thigh for several moments, loving the peacefulness of just simply being able to do it, without fear of being discovered or any hint of shame regarding his action.

He remembered that first morning after they’d had sex the previous night. He had been ashamed then. Not ashamed of what he’d felt for Oliver, but ashamed of what they’d done together. It seemed so base, so hugely invading and intimate, compared to what he felt for Oliver, and the lightness and brightness that came with it. He had taken him time to come to terms with the enormity of what he’d allowed, of what had happened to his body. He had wondered about it from time to time; there is nothing more intimate that allowing someone inside your body; they are moving past the barriers that most people contend with; that of skin and personal space, and physically invading someone else’s form. Elio had pondered that most men would never experience that, that they would always be the invaders, rather than the body being invaded. But he had; and it had shocked him. He’d needed Oliver’s steadfast presence in the days immediately following to steady him; to remind him that it wasn’t an invasion, that he had let down the gates and allowed him in. 

He looked up, to see whether Oliver was still asleep. His eyes were certainly still closed, but whether he was still asleep was a moot point now; his breathing had changed slightly; speeding up towards wakefulness. He had certainly shifted, making more space for Elio to manoeuvre himself over his leg and between his thighs. By this point, Elio just knew that he was pretending. He smirked into the crease of Oliver’s groin, before sitting up slightly to suck on the tip of Oliver’s cock, earning himself a soft pant as Oliver exhaled. He looked up again from under his lashes, to see Oliver’s eyes were slightly open and looking down at him, a sleepy smile on his face. Elio continued to suck on Oliver’s cock, using his tongue to tease at the slit, tasting the saltiness of his precome that had begun to bead there. He drew his mouth off for a moment, using the slickness of Oliver’s precome and the wetness of his mouth to slick the rest of the way. Oliver groaned, pushing his head back into his pillow as Elio worked his hand up and down up his shaft.

He didn’t wait a moment longer as he took the head of Oliver’s cock back into his mouth and sucked, using his tongue on the underside of the head, causing Oliver to moan through his partially open lips, and reach down to push his hand into Elio’s hair, an exhalation of ‘ _fuuuccccck’_ as he watched. Elio moved his hands so that they were on Oliver’s hips, pushing them flat to the mattress as he began to inch his way down his cock, taking him deep into the back of his throat. He couldn’t take all of Oliver; his cock matched his stature; eight or so inches when fully hard, and there was no way that that was all going to fit in his mouth when he’d only been practising for a few weeks. His saliva was slicking the way as he began to bob his head, his mouth creating a seal around Oliver’s cock and his hand on that which he couldn’t fit in his mouth.

‘Oh, god Elio,’ Oliver moaned, his abs rippling as his body tensed, watching him through half-open eyes.

‘ _mmmmm?_ ’ Elio hummed, knowing that Oliver loved the vibrations around his cock that it created.

‘Uhhh,’ Oliver said, unable to to create any greater articulations at that point. Elio wrapped his lips around Oliver’s cockhead, sucking and licking, before deepthroating him again. Repeating this process again a few times was driving Oliver wild; and Elio could see the sweat beginning to gather on his chest. He was tempted to stop what he was doing, to lick at those tiny pools, to taste his lover under his tongue. Oliver’s pant stopped his temptation, and continued to suck, his mouth wet with spit and precome.

‘Fuck, Elio, going to shoot,’ Oliver groaned, pulling at Elio’s hair.

Elio pulled off with an obscene pop, his eyes glittering darkly as he looked up, ‘Wanna cum in my mouth?’

‘Oh jesus,’ moaned Oliver, ‘ _Fuck, yes_ ’

The noises coming from Elio’s mouth were wet, sloppy, and slurping as he hungrily drew Oliver’s orgasm out of him, causing his lover to arch up on the bed as he came on Elio’s tongue, spurt after spurt down his throat. Elio couldn’t help but dribble some out of his mouth, there was just too much for him to swallow completely.

‘ _Jesus fuck_ ’ Oliver hissed out after a moment of getting his breath back. Elio chuckled slightly against his thigh; not having moved as Oliver came down from his orgasmic high, other than to wipe the excess cum off with the back of his hand.

‘You’re amazing, you know that?’ Oliver said.

‘Hmmm,’ Elio declined to answer him, ‘I just like your cock.’

Oliver chuckled from on high, ‘I’m glad about that’

Elio smirked against his leg, enjoying the soft feeling against his cheek. He gasped in surprise as Oliver moved quickly, grabbing his shoulders, pulling him up and spinning him around until he was above him and in between his legs, and Elio’s back was flat against the mattress. Elio automatically made to wrap his legs around Oliver’s hips, but the larger man shook his head.

‘Hold these,’ Oliver growled, pushing on Elio’s knees, so he held them up to his chest, exposing himself.

‘What now?’ he breathed, as Oliver looked down at him like him would a meal.

‘I’m going to eat you out, until your crying with pleasure, and then I’m going to keep going, until you cum so hard you pass out,’ said Oliver gruffly, before diving between his legs.

‘ _Oh_ fuck, Oliver!’ Elio gasped at the first feeling of wetness on tight, hot skin.

**

It was approaching eleven in the morning by the time they went in search of a café for brunch. After making Elio cum from rimming him alone, Oliver had been hard once again, and had fucked Elio gently, eking another orgasm out of his shuddering body. It had taken him at least ten minutes to recover and be able to move from the confines of the bed.

They didn’t actually stop anywhere for brunch, instead choosing to take out their coffees and large pastries, and find a bench to sit on to eat. They didn’t want to take too long over eating, and then be late to get to Madame Bernard’s bookshop. She’d offered them some sort of work, and to pay them for it, and neither of them were in a position to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. It was another warm day; the sun was bright and wispy clouds were scudding across the blue expanse puffed along with the slight breeze.

‘She must have some interesting stories to tell,’ Oliver mused, as conversation moved onto Madame Bernard.

‘Probably,’ responded Elio, taking a large gulp of coffee and instantly regretting it because it was still really hot, and it burned his tongue, ‘It must be awful though; to run it by yourself, I mean, the place is massive.’

‘Well until a few weeks ago she had help, you’d said?’ Oliver asked.

‘Yeah, and then the guy ran off with the money in the till,’ said Elio.

‘What an asshole,’ said Oliver, ‘Wonder why they never caught him.’

Elio shrugged, ‘Either way, I think she’s clearly looking for some help. And I think she might just offer it to us, if she decides we’re not psychopaths… Would that be alright for you?’

‘Well, working in a bookshop wasn’t the first career I had in mind, but if it gives us something of an income, then I’m not going to complain,’ said Oliver, finishing his pastry.

‘I think it would be cool; I mean, I’d get to read whilst I wasn’t busy, and check out all the books I want to read after that… and talk to people,’ said Elio wistfully.

‘I think you’d be great at it,’ said Oliver with a smile, ‘I’m not really that great with customers. I worked in a bar during my third year at college. Got fired after two weeks for being shitty with pushy customers.’

Elio smirked up at him; he could just imagine Oliver getting grumpy about something like that. He was a gentle giant most of the time, but he detested rudeness, and could become quite protective when he felt like either he or someone he cared for was being pushed about.

‘Come on, we don’t want to be late,’ said Elio, getting up off the bench. He watched as two pigeons fought over some crumbs he’d dropped from his lap as he got up.

‘Do you remember the way?’ Oliver asked him as they started walking.

‘Roughly,’ said Elio, ‘Do you not?’

‘My sense of direction is pretty bad,’ said Oliver, ‘Especially in the dark.’

‘I’ll remember that for future reference,’ said Elio with a grin, ‘It was this way, come on.’

It took them about twenty minutes to walk to the bookstore, by which point the great bells of Notre Dame had just rung through the twelve chimes to signal noon. The door was closed when they arrived, with a sign on it denoting the opening hours. Oliver burst out laughing as he read it, causing Elio to peer over his shoulder to see what it said.

He chuckled as he read; **_Ouvert du Mardi au Samedi: le midi – ish/Ferme: quand j'en ai envie. Ferme Dimanche et Lundi._**

‘”Closed when I feel like it”’ Elio intoned whilst laughing, ‘That’s great.’

Oliver was still laughing, ‘That’s amazing, I only got the “lunchtime-ish” part of the sign, but “closed when I feel like it” is even better.’

‘Well she clearly has a sense of humour,’ chuckled Elio, looking up at the front of the building for any signs of life, before he simply knocked, wondering if Mme. Bernard even lived in the building, or if they would have to wait for her to arrive.

‘À venir!’ came a voice from inside. Elio stepped back and waited as he heard the slide of a bolt on the door, and then Mme Bernard appeared.

‘You came!’ she said in French, opening the door wider, ‘Come on in, I was just having coffee, do you want one?’

‘We’ve just had brunch thank you,’ replied Elio as they stepped inside and Mme. Bernard closed the large door behind them, shutting out a few interested faces that had obviously thought that she was opening up.

‘What is it we’re going to help with today?’ asked Elio, as they stood rather awkwardly in the middle of the entryway, with the three large open doorways that spilled off into the corridor towards the back and the storeroom where they’d been last night, and two huge rooms of books.

‘Well I thought one of you could get started on unpacking the books,’ she said, looking between the pair of them, ‘And the other might help me in the shop? Is that alright?’

‘More than alright,’ said Elio, before turning back to Oliver and relaying what she’d just said.

‘Do you want to unpack or help in the shop first? We can swap over half way or something…’ Elio trailed off, looking up at the other man.

‘I’m alright in the storeroom,’ said Oliver, ‘As long as there’s a guide to where everything goes, I’ll be quite alright in there. You will be better in the shop than I can; at least you can speak to the customers!’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Elio, before asking Mme. Bernard the question about the guide. She nodded and said there was a handwritten list tacked to the wall of the storeroom, explaining where everything went.

‘Great,’ said Oliver, turning away, ‘I’ll get started in there then.’

Elio watched him go, somewhat torn. He knew that this wasn’t the most exciting thing ever Oliver could be doing, and he desperately hoped it wouldn’t lead him to have second thoughts about what this was that they were doing together. Maybe he shouldn’t overthink it too much; Oliver seemed happy enough, perhaps he should just leave it at that.

‘Come on then, through to the main store, I’ll show you what I’d like you to do,’ Mme. Bernard said to him, pointing through the large doorway to the main room.

***

Oliver didn’t know how long he worked in the storeroom, but he found a quite sort of peace in the rhythm of unloading the box, checking where that particular genre went in the store, alphabetising th selection, and then heading out into either of the three rooms (the third smaller one, with a reading area, was situated off the second of the two large front-facing rooms). He could hear Elio chatting away in rapid French to various people in the biggest room of the bookshop, and occasionally Mme. Bernard chiming in or speaking up about something or other. He could pick up a few words or phrases here and there, but not overly much. He figured he would improve the longer they stayed here. He was asked a few questions by people when he appeared with an armful of books, but he simply directed them to the desk where Elio was situated.

He was interrupted after some time by Mme Bernard, asking him in broken English if he’d like something to drink. He gratefully accepted the glass of orange juice she offered, not realising until then just how thirsty he was. She asked him if he was alright to continue doing what he was doing and he’d nodded, saying that it seemed like Elio was doing fine in the shop. She had struggled for a moment to understand what he’d said, but seemed to get the general gist and nodded with a smile, before disappearing once again.

He finished the boxes sometime later, and sidled through to the main area of the shop, where there were still plenty of people milling about, rifling through books, or coming up to the counter to buy whatever tome or edition they’d found.

‘You okay?’ he asked Elio, after a break in people coming up to be served. He stood just behind the large counter, his hand on Elio’s hip, but unable to be seen by the rest of the shop.

‘Me okay,’ said Elio with a smile, leaning into him, ‘You?’

Oliver nodded, ‘What time is it?’

Elio glanced at his watch, ‘Coming on seven.’

‘Jesus, no wonder I’m hungry,’ said Oliver, his stomach choosing that precise moment to give a sympathetic growl. Elio smirked at him.  

‘Where’s Mme. Bernard?’ asked Oliver.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ said Elio, glancing about, ‘She disappeared about twenty minutes ago, and I’ve not seen her since.’

‘Do you want to go to Alexandre’s again for something to eat after we’re done here?’ asked Oliver, looking down at the boy who he currently had his hand on.

‘That sounds good,’ said Elio, ‘I wonder what they’ll have on the menu tonight.’

‘And then tomorrow, we’ve got to find somewhere to live,’ said Oliver, ‘We can afford the hotel for a few more nights, but not for much more than that.’

‘Definitely,’ Elio agreed, turning as the sound of Mme. Bernard’s voice calling his name was heard. She appeared a moment or two later into the main room. She spoke rapidly to Elio, and Oliver could understand that she was asking him a question.

‘She’s made dinner,’ said Elio, ‘To say thank you. She’s going to close up soon and then asked if we would like to stay?’

Oliver nodded, and his stomach rumbled again in sympathy, causing Mme. Bernard to chuckle.

The last few customers trickled out of the shop over the next ten minutes, and Mme. Bernard bolted the door behind the last of them, leaving just the three of them in the shop. She’d told Elio that she lived in a flat above the shop, answering the unasked question that Oliver had had about the stairs at the back of the building.

She took them up the stairs to a door which she unlocked, and gestured them inside. The layout of this floor practically mirrored the one below, with a large kitchen where one of the rooms of books was downstairs. There was another door that was closed, which Oliver assumed must be Mme. Bernard’s bedroom, or private salon. There were big windows that looked out from the kitchen over the street below, and the comings and goings of busy Parisians. The smell coming from the kitchen was mouthwatering to Oliver’s hungry stomach, and he eagerly awaited whatever it was Mme. Bernard had cooked up.

They sat and ate in the large kitchen, which had a dining table pushed against one of the walls, leaving space for four chairs; one at either end, and two along the side with their backs to the kitchen. Oliver squeezed into the space at one end, whilst Elio sat at a right-angle to him. Mme. Bernard had cooked chicken, with potatoes and asparagus, dripping in butter. Oliver practically demolished the food that was put in front of him, whilst Elio and she chatted away. Once again he was left at a disadvantage as they spoke, but he determined to listen as hard as he could, and try and understand what was being said. He wouldn’t be able to respond, mind, but he guessed understanding was at least half the battle. He could understand that Elio was telling her that they’d come from Italy, and had decided they were going to travel together after they’d met in the summer. Mme. Bernard asked something and Elio blushed, shrugging and then agreeing to whatever she had asked. She said something close to ‘I thought as much,’ in response.

Oliver was quickly realising that there were certain gestures, phrases, and tones of voice that went beyond various languages, and that things could be understood regardless of the exactness of the phrase. That morning he’d watched a Parisian woman shouting at her young son; ‘why did you do that?!’ sounded much the same, whatever language it was said in. The intent certainly came across.

He sat back in his chair, enjoying the full feeling of having just been fed. Mme. Bernard had also provided an excellent white wine to go with the food, and he was quite content to enjoy finishing off his glass. He was watching Elio’s facial expression for clues about what was being said, and right now his face had a look of amazement on it, as his voice took on a tone of surprise. Elio spoke again, which Mme. Bernard answered with a rueful smile and a gentle shrug along with her words.

‘What?’ asked Oliver, thinking that whatever was making Elio look like this was probably something that he should be paying attention to. Elio looked across at him, seemingly unable to form words momentarily.

‘She wants me to replace the man who ran off those weeks ago,’ said Elio.

‘Well that’s very kind,’ said Oliver, although he was not altogether unsurprised by this, he’d figured that Mme. Bernard needed help, and she’d seemed willing enough to trust them, and especially Elio, to do so.

‘Yeah, but that’s not all!’ said Elio, as Mme. Bernard got up and started clearing away, clearly thinking that this was a conversation they should be having without her watching on.

‘What is it?’ asked Oliver, frowning slightly. He doubted Mme. Bernard had a job for him as well. There had only been one helper before, and he doubted she’d suddenly want two. The shop was definitely big enough to have more than one helper; but perhaps she didn’t have the funds to cover that.

‘Her nephew, and then the guy who replaced him, lived in with her. There’s a room in the attic above here. She’s willing to let us live in it, for reduced rent, as long as I help out in the shop, and you as well when needed, so she doesn’t have to work as much!’ Elio said excitedly.

Oliver’s jaw dropped. He’d expected the job offer; but certainly not the offer of a room. That was incredible; he looked over at Mme. Bernard, but she was determinedly stood at the kitchen sink, not looking at either of them.

‘Well?’ asked Elio breathlessly after a moment of silence from Oliver.

‘That’s amazing,’ said Oliver, meaning it, ‘Can we see it?’

To be honest, it didn’t really matter if it had been a broom cupboard. As long as it had a roof and bed, and wasn’t charging hotel prices, then it was good enough for him.

Elio turned towards Mme. Bernard, asking something quickly. She had turned when he spoke, her hands soapy with suds from the water, and nodded with a smile, gesturing out of the room. Elio pushed his chair back noisily in his excitement, whilst Oliver also manoeuvred himself out from behind the dining table.

Mme. Bernard led them over to another door, which Oliver had assumed was the boiler or something of the like, but when opened revealed another set of stairs, these steeper and narrower than the ones coming up from the shop. She turned on a light that was near the bottom, and then led the way up, Elio following close on her heels, Oliver behind.

Elio didn’t say anything as he reached the top of the stairs, but Oliver heard his excited intake of breath, so knew it must be something good. He stepped out into the room, and he too was taken aback by what he saw. The room was _massive_ and despite the sloping eaves of the roof, it did nothing to diminish the size. It must have spread across most of the building below, but without the dividing walls. There was a door which led to a tiny balcony and fire escape at one end, where the roof didn’t slope, and a door which Oliver assumed led to a toilet. Elio had already hurried over and opened the door, revealing a small bathroom, equipped with toilet, sink and shower.

Inside the room itself, a double bed was shoved up against one of the bare brick walls; it wasn’t currently made up, but the duvet and pillows were heaped at the end of it. There was a closet, and a couple of end tables with lamps. There was a chair next to an empty bookshelf, but the best part, as far as Oliver was concerned, was that there was a mini kitchen area. A small oven, with a two pan gas hob above it; a small fridge and a counter; it meant they wouldn’t have to constantly eat out, which would have been a huge drain on their funds. It was a self-contained flat in one big open space. It was pretty basic; he could see the pipes from the building below on the walls, and the boiler was situated against the end wall next to the door to the fire escape. There was no carpet; instead a scrubbed wooden floor was underfoot, and he could see patches of insulating foam in the roof where the covering was peeling back a bit. But it didn’t matter; this would be perfect for them. What else could they possibly need? He almost felt like weeping at the sheer fortitude of what had occurred, followed quickly by the desire to pinch himself to check that he wasn’t simply dreaming and would wake up in the bed in Rome, having to leave his boy that very morning. He turned towards the other two.

‘ _Bien?’_ asked Mme. Bernard, looking at them both closely.

Oliver looked across at Elio, who was grinning from ear to ear before he answered the old woman, ‘ _Tres, tres bien madame, c’est incroyable!’_


	7. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '... shaking hands with the dark parts of my thoughts...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooo, aren't you lucky? Extra chapter in the middle of the week? Mostly because I'm away this weekend, and I'm not going to be able to update. I might be able to do one for Monday night, but if not, this will have to tide you over until next weekend! 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left me a little bit of love on the last chapter; it means the world to me as a writer. What do you think of this one? Tu aime? 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'Doubt' by Twenty One Pilots

They moved out of the hotel the following day. It really wasn’t hard to move, the two of them having so little things between the pair of them. It was a different person manning reception, and they paid without any passive aggressive comments about them being together and having had only one room. This guy didn’t seem to care, and was only interested in processing their checkout. It was a lot of money to pay, and the earnings from Oliver’s last poker game did take a hit, but now he wasn’t overly worried, thanks to the _incredible_ offer from Mme. Bernard. He remembered watching the man in Alexandre’s bar playing cards the other night, and surmised that he would have information about the goings on of local games. He’d been watching the man play, however, and was 95% certain that he would never play with him. There was something odd about the way he played poker, and he hadn’t quite figured out exactly what it was. He hadn’t got close enough.

The previous evening, when they returned from the shop, Elio had practically been floating along, and Oliver had felt that he might have to hold onto him to stop him flying away. They hadn’t been able to sleep at all, and Elio had been gushing about the room and the shop, and the people he had been speaking to throughout the day. Oliver was delighted that his boy was so happy, and that they didn’t have to make any really difficult decisions about where to go next. They’d fallen asleep at about 4am, just as the darkness of the night began to fade into a pre-dawn light.

Just as they were about to leave the hotel, Oliver decided to make use of the phone in reception. He’d been meaning to call home in the fifty or so hours it had been since he hadn’t got on his flight in Rome, but it hadn’t been at the top of his priorities, and he figured that his parents would just assume that he’d chosen to go elsewhere for a while. That’s if they even remembered what date he’d been planning to come home. He didn’t quite know what he was going to say to them; it’s not like he’d been rehearsing it in the slightest. He hadn’t really thought about it.

He sent Elio out into the afternoon sunshine, and told him that he could walk along to the shop if he wanted, but his boy decided to wait for him. He picked up the receiver, and slid some money into the slot beside the dial, before punching in the familiar number with the international dialling code. It was mid-morning on the East Coast right now, and he hoped at least one of his parents would be at home.

It rang four times before someone picked up.

‘Hello, Davis residence?’ came his mother’s voice down the line.

‘Ma?’ he said, ‘It’s me.’

‘Oh Oliver! Hello,’ she said, instantly confirming his suspicions that she’d forgotten which day he was supposed to have been home, ‘How are you, sweetheart?’

‘I’m very well thank you Ma,’ he said, ‘Are you and pa alright?’

‘We are very well darling, we’re going to the Cooper’s summer gala this evening – such a shame you’ll miss it -, and then it’s the Rochford’s breakfast tomorrow. I’ll pass on your apologies,’ she said, ‘You’ll have to go and see them when you return.’

Oliver cleared his throat before he spoke, ‘It’s going to be some time before I’m back again ma.’

‘Why?’ she asked, ‘Has your flight been cancelled? We can book you a new one for tomorrow,’ she said, and Oliver could imagine the long cigarette puttering away between her fingers.

‘It’s not that,’ said Oliver, ‘I won’t be coming back from Europe. I… err… I met someone.’

Silence on the other end for a moment or two, ‘Oh Oliver, really! Don’t be silly! What about Amanda? Her family have started sending out the save the dates.’

‘Well offer my sincere apologies, to Amanda and to her family,’ said Oliver, ‘But there will be no date. I’m not coming back.’

‘That will disgrace us, and your father!’ said his mother, ‘You know this has been planned for years. What are we supposed to do?’

‘To be honest ma, it doesn’t matter,’ said Oliver, ‘I’ve met someone, and I’m in love. I can’t come home.’

Another pause, ‘If you do this to us, you’ll get no more money from us. You can’t just abandon your responsibilities for some random love affair you think you’ve found in Europe.’

Oliver cleared his throat, ‘That is not what this is. I have a responsibility here now, one that I cannot, and will not ignore. Nor do I want to.’

‘What sort of responsibility, is she pregnant, Oliver?’ his mother asked, her voice slowly becoming more and more venomous.

Oliver chuckled under his breath, ‘If only. That would be much more simple.’

‘Well what is it then?’ she asked, ‘What could possibly be more important than the responsibilities you have here; the loyalty that you owe your family? The promises we’ve made?’

‘Living a life Ma!’ said Oliver, unable to contain his frustration, ‘One that hasn’t always been dictated to me.’

‘Really! Oliver! Don’t be so ridiculous, there’s more to life than throwing it all away on some girl that you’ve just met.’

Oliver laughed, unable to help himself, ‘Well that’s the way it is, ma.’

‘Fine then, I can see you are determined to shame us all. There will be nothing more from us until you come to your senses and leave this floozy,’ her voice hard.

‘Fine,’ said Oliver, ‘That won’t change my mind. I’ll be going now ma. And by the way; it’s not some floozy or girl I’ve fallen in love with. It’s a beautiful, young, intelligent, breathtakingly amazing, Italian boy.’

He heard his mother’s scandalised intake of breath in the half second before he hung up the receiver.

It felt a breath shot of vindictive pleasure, swiftly followed by a sense of sickening nausea of regret. What had he just done? He stared at the phone for a moment, half-tempted to call his mother back and say it was all a sick joke. But then he be betraying everything he’d come to realise in the past few weeks; and he be betraying his gorgeous Italian boy, standing in the sunshine waiting for him. He took a deep breath to steady himself, before turning around to leave the hotel and meet Elio.

He blinked a few times as he stepped into the sunshine, before spotting Elio by a newspaper stand, chatting away to the vendor. He’d secured a newspaper, and was holding it under his arm. Oliver would have him read him the headlines later, before perhaps tackling something relatively easy, such as the weather or the tv listings, himself. When he’d been talking to Vimini about how she’d learned so many languages, she’d say that one of the easiest things to do was to read stuff in it. Listening was okay, reading was okay, it was speaking that was the most difficult. He figured he could start somewhere with the newspaper, and then Elio could help him out on the bits that he didn’t understand.

‘Hey,’ said Elio, spotting him and sidling over, ‘You okay?’

Oliver half-shrugged, unsure as to whether he should dump what had just happened on his boy.

‘You can tell me you know,’ he said, ‘I want you to.’

Oliver shrugged again, ‘I’m just not going to be going home for a while.’

Elio nodded, ‘From what you’d said I thought that might happen… Thank you though.’

‘For what?’ he asked, looking down at him, confused.

‘For being brave enough to own this; whatever this is,’ said Elio, sliding his hand into Oliver’s.

‘You did, with your father,’ he said, ‘I didn’t call you brave.’

‘Yes,’ said Elio, ‘But that’s _my_ parents. They’d support me through pretty much everything, even if I told them I’d killed someone, my mama would try and help me hide the body.’

Oliver chuckled darkly, ‘Please don’t do that.’

‘Wasn’t planning to anytime soon,’ said Elio dismissively, ‘But I’m proud of you. What you just did, is important.’

Even though he didn’t quite know what Elio was proud of him for, he felt a weird tingle of gratitude at his words. He knew his boy would help him, and would be around to prop him up if he so needed it. He would do the same for any moment of doubt or worry that his boy had. They would help each other. He prodded inward at himself; was he sad about what his mother had said? It wasn’t as if they’d been especially close; she’d held him at arm’s length ever since he’d been old enough to “be a man”, as she’d called it. She’d wanted him to grow up independent, strong, and tough, and apparently you didn’t get that in a boy if they were shown too much affection. Then again, he wasn’t sure if he could wholly blame his mother for that one. His grandfather had been a ship’s captain in the first world war, and had organised his household in much the same way that he’d run his ship; with naval precision. From what he had gathered, from the very rare occasions where his mother had actually spoken of her childhood, she hadn’t had much affection either.

Elio put his hand in the back pocket of Oliver’s jeans as they walked, causing Oliver to smirk and put his arm around him in return. He thought about what had led them to this moment; everything had moved so utterly fast, he knew it must seem extremely odd to anybody else. Only three weeks ago had they been skirting around each other; unsure and unsteady. Then had come the kiss, more weirdness, and then _midnight_. Midnight. That had only been two weeks ago; followed by a mad rush to know everything there was to know about each other’s bodies, to cling to each other like a drowning man might cling to a raft. Oliver had felt like there was a deep hollow in his chest during those days, which he kept trying to stuff full by having Elio again, and again, and _again_. Their desire never seemed to sate. His fire and need for his boy had never worn thin. And then had come Rome, and the bookshop, and the dinner until the early hours of the morning, talking to people who had all the time and interest in the world, now frozen in perpetual youth in that particular moment.

Then there had been the moment on the platform. The splitting of ways; the potential of two paths offered to each of them. And he had held out his hand, and Elio had taken it. Palm-to-palm, skin to skin, and a decision of a lifetime.

It had been three weeks, three weeks into which they had crammed what most relationships spent a year doing. He felt like he had consumed his boy, taken on every part of him and still he’d wanted to know more, about the wiry, complicated, talented creature who had decided to be his. There was still so much he didn’t know, hidden away behind those green eyes.

He turned towards Elio suddenly; ‘When’s your birthday?’

‘What?’ asked Elio looking startled, ‘Where did that come from?’

‘I was just thinking, and I realised I didn’t know when your birthday is. I feel like it’s something I ought to know,’ said Oliver with a grin.

‘It’s the middle of September; the sixteenth to be precise,’ said Elio, ‘Eighteen this year.’

Those words hit him like a punch in the guts again. Eighteen; Elio was still so so young. Had he done the right thing in asking him to make this decision about his future? Would he have been able to do that at eighteen? Hell, five and a bit years had passed since he’d turned eighteen; it was difficult to remember the mindset he’d held, other than that his worldview had altered and widened significantly since that point. Had he stolen all that from Elio?

‘When’s yours?’ Elio asked, unaware of all the questions that were racing through Oliver’s mind at that moment.

‘January,’ said Oliver.

‘And you will be…?’ Elio asked.

Oliver grinned, remembering how at eighteen there was such a fascination with the actual number, the actual year, whereas as he moved into his twenties, it seemed to matter less.

‘Twenty-four,’ he said gruffly, not exactly wanting to admit the age gap between himself and Elio.

‘Excellent,’ said Elio, not caring in the slightest about the months and days between them, ‘We’ll have a party.’

Oliver chuckled at his obtuseness, ‘Alright, but it’s yours first. So, let’s celebrate that first, eh?’

***

He stood in utter amazement in the middle of huge room which had befallen them. Yes, it was basic, but Elio literally couldn’t have cared less. It had a bed, a toilet, a shower, and a place to cook, everything else was a complete and utter bonus. He dumped his rucksack at the end of the bed, and looked around as Oliver put his duffel bag on the bed which they would share. He made a mental note to get his clothes out of his rucksack as soon as possible, wash what he could in the sink, and then get them out to dry on the balcony.

Madame Bernard had said that she didn’t expect him to work today whilst they got themselves settled and sorted out. He had thanked her profusely for her kindness, but she had brushed him off, saying that it wasn’t charity, and that she was glad he and Oliver had appeared to help her out. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. She was glad of the free time this was going to afford her again; she was over seventy, and whilst she loved the bookstore with all her heart, she wanted someone to share the burden with.

Elio went to the fire escape door and opened it, seeing that it was a tiny balcony, with an iron staircase leading down to the yard of the bookstore below. There was lock on the gate of the yard, so they didn’t need to worry about anyone trying to use the fire escape to break in; either to the bookshop, or the two flats above it. He turned to see Oliver duck slightly to exit through the door and onto the small balcony beside him.

They were surrounded by tall buildings, and the signs of daily life were evident everywhere. From lines of washing hanging from balconies, to a woman on a balcony nearby smoking whilst talking to someone a couple of floors below. A man was watering his garden pots, a small dog was snoozing in the sunshine next to him. It was amazingly normal, and Elio couldn’t help but breathe it all in, a large smile crossing his face. He could get used to this; to seeing this every morning as he woke up, in bed beside Oliver.

‘Happy with this?’ breathed Oliver, next to him.

‘Definitely,’ said Elio, ‘Are you?’

‘Yes,’ Oliver said, leaning against the rail next to him, their hands close together.

‘Really?’ he asked, looking up into the face of the other man.

‘ _Yes_ ,’ breathed Oliver, bringing his face close to Elio’s, and kissing him gently on the tip of the nose.

‘I keep thinking I’m going to wake up,’ admitted Elio, nuzzling into Oliver, not willing to let his warmth retreat after his kiss.

‘Hmm?’ asked Oliver, ‘What do you mean?’

Elio shrugged, not speaking for a moment. Then he turned away and went back inside without answering Oliver, knowing the older man would follow him. He went to sit on the bed, and crossed his legs, looking at his nails, as he felt the bed dip with the weight of the other man. It felt like this needed to be said, here and now, in this space, before they made it their own. This place was going to be _theirs_ and he needed to be sure that that was exactly what Oliver wanted.

‘What do you mean, Elio?’ asked Oliver, his voice low.

Elio couldn’t help but feel tears begin to creep up inside of his eyelids, and he tried to blink them back, ‘I guess I’m just scared. I want to be here, I’m excited to be here. But I’m worried that you will realise everything you’ve given up to be here with me, and not want to be here anymore.’

He heard Oliver breathe out, his breath carrying a quiet groan of dismay at Elio’s words. Then his arms encircled around him, and brought him to Oliver’s chest, holding him close.

‘Not true,’ said Oliver, his voice gravelly, ‘I know this is strange. Trust me, this isn’t something I’d do for just anyone. It is scary. But I want to be here with you as well; and I know it won’t always be the same… The last three weeks have been incredible, and I have fallen in love harder than I ever thought was possible. Hence the reason I decided to ask you to come with me, to wherever that might be. I couldn’t just abandon that, knowing that I might never be lucky enough to feel it again.’

Elio let out a squeak of breath, and a few tears did escape from his eyes, soaking the front of Oliver’s shirt. He was reminded of a moment in an attic room only a week or so ago, when Oliver had held him as he cried, when he had been so desperate to get the other man to stay. A peach had sat on the bedside table beside them, and he cried in his frustration that he could feel so much, only to have it all taken away.

‘That’s the first time you told me you loved me,’ he whispered a moment later.

‘Yeah?’ asked Oliver quietly, ‘Well I’ve felt it for weeks, perhaps since the first week I met you, I was in love with you.’

Elio was sobbing. There was no other way about it; he clung to Oliver, trying to draw the other man as close as he possibly could.

‘Just be here with me,’ said Elio pleadingly, ‘I’m sorry I’m being so strange.’

‘Shhhh, it doesn’t matter,’ said Oliver soothingly, lying them flat on top of the bed, covering Elio with some of his weight, anchoring him to the wonderful reality of him being there, ‘I’ll stay here with you forever if you want.’

Elio couldn’t reply, except to ball his hands into fists in the front of Oliver’s shirt, pulling on the material so that it was next to his face, breathing in the scent and smell of Oliver.

‘I love you too,’ Elio managed, a moment later, ‘I love you so much. And that’s why I’m scared; I’m scared to wake up, to find that this is all a dream. I’m scared for the bubble to burst, and to find out it wasn’t real.’

‘It’s real,’ rumbled Oliver, ‘And I’ll be here… as long as you want me to be. I love you.’


	8. Not What It Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oliver starts a new project, and Elio meets a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Not What It Seems - Something Corporate

He stepped out into the bright sunshine of the street; it was still hot, so he was wearing a pair of shorts that he had brought with him from the villa. Or rather, that he had brought with him from home and then worn extensively at the villa. He was going to go find a clothes shop today, to buy he and Elio some new clothes. They’d washed what they could in the sink in the bathroom last night, and as he’d left the apartment this morning, washing had been strewn over various available surfaces, including the balcony, drying in the sunlight. He wouldn’t be able to buy much when he found a store, their money situation was not exactly great, but it would be enough he could just get some underpants for the pair of them, and some t-shirts. He couldn’t help but chuckle slightly to himself at the thought. It was so domestic; him out buying underpants and t-shirts. But somehow it made him feel this deep sense of contentment in the pit of his stomach; a happiness that he knew stemmed from the joy that Elio brought into his life, and that he very much enjoyed the prospect of domesticity with him.

After their conversation last night, and trying to allay some of Elio’s fears, they had made slow and gentle love on top of the covers. He gently thrusting into Elio’s pliant and giving form, all sharp edges and silk under his hands, as they’d both shuddered with delight in the pleasure that the body of the other brought. He didn’t think he would ever have enough of Elio, and as he walked he determinedly had to think about something other than the look on Elio’s face as he came; the white column of his throat, and the sinful bow of his mouth, slightly open in a gasp. He had to stop thinking about it because (as Elio had mentioned to him many a time at the villa) these shorts were very short, and disguised absolutely nothing.

He wandered down a few of the side streets, peering into shop windows, or just generally people watching as they came and went along the street. He’d left the bookshop in Elio’s capable hands on his first official day in the job. Madame Bernard had been with him in the front room, showing him various bits and pieces that she hadn’t managed the day when Elio had been working before. She’d also mentioned that she had a school boy come in a help on a Saturday when it got really busy, for pocket change. Elio had just shrugged in his happy, easy going kind of way and continued to listen as she’d gone on explaining various things. Oliver had taken his leave, knowing that Elio wouldn’t want him under his feet all day, and also that he didn’t really want to be there with nothing to do. He’d have to find something useful to do with himself, and seeing as there were several errands that they needed doing, he figured he would start there.

It didn’t surprise him, however, that as he wandered, he found himself in front of a library, hidden away between two old looking banks, with golden grills on the window. He always seemed to be able to find these places, even when he wasn’t looking for them, like he was magnetically drawn to the idea of the quiet joy he found in studying. He stood outside for a moment, debating whether or not to go inside or to get on with the tasks that he had to do. He figured that he could at least check the local newspaper that he knew he would find inside for job vacancies.

He stepped into the cool building and instantly felt at peace and a sense of calm wash over him. Not that he felt uneasy before; but this was his natural habitat, where he belonged. He spent a lot of the last ten years in libraries, slaving away over various books, and these places just provided him with a feeling that he never got when he was a home. One thing was for sure; he was an academic through and through. He felt a wave of guilt over the faculty job that had been waiting for him, that he would now never fill.

The library had a marble floor, and a huge double door opening out onto the main room where shelves upon shelves lined the walls and were stacked in the middle as well. He wandered on in, pausing for a moment to pick up a couple of today’s newspapers from the stand by the door. They were on those strange wooden pole things to stop them getting creased and messed up, so he figured he was probably meant to read them at a table. He put them down for a moment, and wandered about, looking at the different sections of the library itself, noticing that most people in there seemed to be engaged in serious study, pens scratching away at notebooks as they poured over heavy tomes.

‘ _Puis-je vous aider Monsieur?’_ came a voice at his elbow, and he looked around from his perusing of the shelves to see a petite brunette girl, her arms full of books, looking up at him.

‘Um, no, I’m okay, just looking,’ he stammered in English.

‘Okay,’ she said, in heavily accented English as she correctly surmised that he didn’t speak very good French, ‘If you need anything, let me know. I will be at the front desk.’

He nodded and she wandered off, putting the books on a trolley to be returned to the shelves later.

He quickly realised that this was a specialist library, rather than a generalist one, which is why he presumed the librarian had asked him if he needed help, thinking he was looking for something specific. Most of the shelf space was dedicated to local history throughout the centuries, and on the other side of the aisle there were facsimiles of ancient manuscripts and texts. There was a sign on the end of the one of the book shelves stating that the library did hold archival material, but if the patrons wanted to view something specific they needed to talk to the librarians and arrange a viewing (written in both English and French, hence the reason he could read it). Oliver’s intellectually curiosity was peaked, and he wondered what sort of documents they held, and what kind of secrets they would unveil if read. He would have to come back here and do some digging. One of the things he was interested in looking into was the story that Madame Bernard had told, about her father being part of the French resistance and publishing anti-Nazi pamphlets during the occupation in the 1940s. He’d be fascinated to find out more about that, and what he did exactly.

That was not the reason he’d come here, however, and he turned back to where he’d left the newspapers, only to find that one of them was being read by a blonde woman with a long ponytail, a cross body bag slung about her person.

‘Oh sorry,’ she said as he took the other from beside the one she was reading, ‘Did you leave these here?’

‘Yes, but it’s alright,’ he said, noting that she had spoken to him in English, was it really that obvious that he wasn’t a local?

‘I’ll have that one when you’re done,’ he offered as she stopped reading.

‘It’s fine,’ she said, pushing it towards him, ‘I’m just procrastinating from what I should really be doing.’

Oliver grinned, ‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, today’s one of my library days, and I really should be studying, but I just can’t bring myself to start. I’m trying to trace all of the members of Huguenot families who had loved ones killed in the St Bartholemew’s Day Massacre. It’s part of my PhD,’ she finished with a shrug.

 ‘Sounds fascinating,’ said Oliver, meaning it.

‘Oh, it can be,’ she said, ‘But I’ve been looking through prison rolls that are in very bad condition for the past month. There’s only so much of that that I can take, before I completely lose my mind.’

Oliver chuckled; he knew that pain, ‘I imagine.’

There was a pause after she passed him the paper, ‘I could help you, if you like?’

She looked at him, puzzled, ‘You would do that? Why?’

‘I’m an academic,’ he said with a shrug, ‘I’ve just moved here. I could use something to do.’

She looked surprised, her eyebrows travelling up towards her hairline, ‘I couldn’t pay you very much.’

‘I wasn’t imagining you would pay me at all,’ he said with another shrug, ‘I’m just helping out here and there. I find this kind of stuff fascinating.’

‘No no,’ she said, ‘I can pay you a little bit; my work is being funded by a private research backer. So I’m sure I could find something if you’re willing to help out. The funder had been getting frustrated that it was taking me so long to get through this particular section of work, so I imagine he would find the capacity for an extra set of hands.’

‘And you sure he wouldn’t mind?’ asked Oliver surprised, ‘I… er… didn’t catch your name?’

She smiled prettily, ‘It’s Jeannette, although most people call me Jeanne. And you are?’

‘Oliver,’ he said, holding a hand, ‘Nice to meet you.’

She took his hand, and they shook on whatever cobbled together agreement that had apparently just made.

**

‘ _Merci, laissez-moi savoir comment vous l'aimez!’_ said Elio to a customer’s retreating back. They had just purchased one of his favourite books in the entire world, and he had made them promise that they would come back and tell them how they liked it once they were done. They smiled back at him and waved in farewell as they left.

The next person stepped up to the counter, and Elio could only imagine that if pixies were real, then they would look exactly like this girl. She had long red hair that was drawn back off her face, and the sharpest, most defined cheeks and jawbone that he had ever seen on a girl. They almost looked vaguely masculine, yet softened by the obvious femininity that she exuded with every movement. He felt like he vaguely recognised her from somewhere, but wasn’t quite sure where it was.

‘ _Bonjour_ ,’ he said, the French rolling naturally off his tongue after speaking it all day, ‘Can I help?’

‘I was looking for you, actually,’ she replied, matching his French, ‘I’ve seen you down at Alexandre’s a couple of times now, and wondered if you were local… and then I heard that Mme. Bernard had found herself two new lodgers, a brunette and a blond man, and I figured it was too much of a coincidence from what I had seen.’

‘Well you were right,’ said Elio, a little stunned that she had thought all this about him, ‘I’m Elio. And the other man is called Oliver.’

‘Oh yes,’ she said with a soft smile, ‘I’ve already spoken to Oliver.’

‘You have?’ asked Elio, surprised.

‘Only very briefly, before I was called away for business,’ she said, ‘I’m Étoile.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Elio, suddenly remembering in what circumstances he’d seen the girl before, ‘Yes, Oliver did mention you.’

‘I imagine he was not overly impressed with me,’ said Étoile, ‘I think I scared him a little.’

‘No, I think you’re probably alright,’ said Elio, ‘I think he was just surprised by you and your friend.’

‘Yes, Saphr can be a little… forthright,’ she said with a grin.

Elio nodded, chuckling, ‘So have you lived around here long?’

‘All my life,’ she said, ‘Or as long as I can remember for certain; which is why I know all the comings and goings around here. Along with a few others.’

‘Others?’ Elio asked

‘The regulars at Alexandre’s bar,’ she said with a shrug, ‘We all know Madame Bernard, and a lot of the other vendors who live along this street. That’s one thing you’ll about around here fast; everyone knows everything about everyone. Nothing stays secret for long.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Elio with a grin.

‘Anyway, that’s not really what I came in here to tell you, _mon Cherie_ –‘

Elio held up his hand to cut her off for a moment, ‘Excuse me, I think someone needs my help over there; I’ll be right back.’

Étoile nodded as he slid out from behind the counter to help a customer that had been gesturing to him.

After helping the customer, who had wanted recommendations on which Victor Hugo novel he should read, Elio slipped back towards the front desk. Étoile was still standing there, examining her nails, which Elio noticed were quite long and painted red. She was wearing very tight pale blue jeans, and he wondered how she wasn’t overly warm in them; he did notice, however, that they hugged her curves in all the places that he liked.

He caught himself. Because he was with Oliver, did that mean that he couldn’t look at anyone else? Someone very wise had once told him that bakers and butchers didn’t compete, and that’s something that he had always sort of believed. He loved Oliver, he knew that he did. He thought he was incredible. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t _look_ at other people, right? Or even be attracted to them? It wasn’t as if that part of his brain had suddenly ceased to work now that he was with Oliver. He could still appreciate a beautiful girl when he saw one.

‘Everything alright?’ asked Étoile after he returned to behind the desk.

‘Yes, fine,’ he said, telling her what the customer wanted, ‘Which would you have picked?’

She shrugged, ‘I have not read them. I mean, I know what happens in various stories, but I haven’t read them myself.’

Elio shrugged in response, ‘They are good stories. Although can get a little drawn out in place. I think in Les Miserables there is about fifteen chapters dedicated to the Paris sewer system at one point!’

‘ _Mon Dieu!_ ’ said Étoile with a giggle, ‘I think I might give it a miss then. Anyway, I was saying before you went over there; I came to tell you, there is a party at Alexandre’s tomorrow night. And seeing as you and _le petit_ Oliver are new to the area, I would like to invite you.’

‘ _Le petit?_ ’ Elio giggled, ‘Have you seen him?’

‘Yes _mon Cherie_ , I have,’ giggled Étoile, looking over his left shoulder and quirking an eyebrow.

‘Hey,’ came Oliver’s voice, as Elio turned to see what she was looking at. Elio had an immediate physical reaction to Oliver’s voice, like a surge of heat spreading up his spine.

‘Hey you,’ said Elio, tilting his face up for a peck on the lips that Oliver swooped down to give him the moment he was close enough.

‘I bought us some more stuff,’ said Oliver, ‘I went upstairs first and left it up there though. The rest of the washing is nearly dry.’

Elio giggled, ‘So domestic.’

‘I know, I thought that earlier’ said Oliver with a shrug, ‘I’ve got something to tell you later though.’

‘Oh?’ asked Elio.

‘Not now,’ he said, and then grinned, ‘Later!’

Elio hit him gently on the stomach, and rolled his eyes before gesturing to Étoile, ‘Étoile has invited us to a party at the bar where we had food the other night.’

‘Oh that sounds cool,’ said Oliver, flashing a winning smile in Étoile’s direction, ‘When?’

‘Tomorrow night,’ said Étoile, picking up on the question and answering in thickly accented English, ‘Starts… whenever. But after everyone has finished eating.’

‘Sounds great,’ said Oliver to her, ‘We’ll be there.’

‘Excellent!’ she said, smiling and showing off perfect teeth, ‘I will see you there then.’

And with that she twirled away and was gone, leaving the smell of what seemed like expensive perfume behind her. Elio wondered whether a client had bought it for her, knowing what Étoile did. Then he realised it was none of business, and how she made money was up to her.

‘I’m going to go upstairs and read,’ said Oliver, ‘I’ll also start doing dinner if you want? What time are you thinking of closing up here?’

‘Probably about six,’ said Elio, ‘It’s not very busy right now, so I don’t think Mme. Bernard will mind overly much.’

‘Alright,’ said Oliver, leaning down and kissing him again, harder this time, letting his lips linger so that Elio could feel their softness just enough for him to want to lean into the sensation and not let it go.

Then Oliver stepped back and smirked down at him, ‘See you in a bit.’

And with that he was gone, out of the bookshop, leaving Elio to his own devices, and the few customers who were milling about, perusing the shelves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left some love on the last chapter - it means the world to me. I love you all, and my readers give me sustenance to keep writing.


	9. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♪ You get me closer to God ♪... 
> 
> In which some fantasies are explored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... smutty Sunday definitely returns with a-vengeance with this chapter! Some of Oliver's fantasies come to the surface here, and give a glimpse to what you might expect in some future chapters! Yeah so this pretty explicit, but hey, it's there in the tags. Some serious dirty talk in this chapter. Don't read this at work. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has supported this story so far, it really does mean the world. I know it's more "slow burn" than Into Darkness, but I promise I have some crazy twists and turns planned for this tale as well. 
> 
> Title = 'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails
> 
> xxx

The place was buzzing when they stepped through the door the following evening, after the moon had risen and the day’s tourists had long gone off the street. A live band were playing on a makeshift stage near the bar, and there were groups of people spilling over each other as they moved around. A sort of dancefloor was on the far side of the bar, made by chairs being placed in the corners in a rough square, so that people could come together in between and dance. The place was packed, and there were groups as well as couples on the dancefloor and crowding around the bar.

Oliver slipped his hand into the back pocket of his boy’s tight jeans and drew him close so he could talk in his ear, and be heard over the music. He took the opportunity to squeeze the flesh under the fabric, causing Elio to lean into him, and wiggle. He kissed the side of Elio’s neck, just under his ear, and then nibbled at his lobe.

‘What do you want to drink?’

Elio tilted his head back, exposing that gorgeous white column of his throat to Oliver’s gaze, in order to answer him.

‘Gin? What are you having?’

Oliver nodded, ‘I’m not sure, but gin sounds like a good idea to start with. I’ll go get it; do you want to find a table? Or are you just going to stay around here?’

He felt Elio shrug, ‘I’ll stay here.’

‘Alright,’ said Oliver removing his hand from Elio’s pocket, and pushed his way into the crowd, sidestepping a couple who looked as if they were attempting to devour each other, rather than simply kissing. The night was young, they’d be fucking in the corner before long if they didn’t cool down. He grinned as he remembered the way that Elio had kissed him in Rome; it felt like that, as if he wanted to devour each part of him, and never let him leave. He remembered tasting that desperation on his lips, and had answered it with his own. It had what led them here, he supposed.

He headed up to the bar, where both Alexandre and Martine were working to aid the rush of party goers. It took him about five minutes to get served, but he managed to get his order in with a flushed looking Martine after a moment or two, and yelling it over the bar so that she could hear him over the band. She smiled as she recognised him, and made him the four drinks he’d ordered. He’d ordered four, two for each himself and Elio, so that he wouldn’t have to come back to the bar as fast, and they could avoid the crush and the queue. He’d definitely got more sensible, or at least more thoughtful, as he got older. He turned back, holding all four glasses in his large hands, to look for Elio. He spotted him almost instantly, holding court with both Étoile and the girl he recognised as Saphr, near where he had left him.

‘Hey,’ he said, sidling up next to him, and handing him two of the glasses he was carrying, taking a gulp of his own, the ice cooling down the liquid inside.

‘Two?’ asked Elio, surprised.

He shrugged.

‘You’ll be getting me drunk!’ said Elio with a giggle.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ he said with a grin before turning to the two girls, and raising one of the glasses in a toast, ‘ _Bonjour_ ’

‘ _Bonjour monsieur_ ,’ Saphr giggled, clearly remembering their last encounter. She looked absolutely stunning tonight; her supremely long brunette hair waving its way down to her hips. She was wearing a short blue dress, that showed off what seemed like miles of legs. Oliver noticed that Elio couldn’t help but keep staring at both of the girls, a face that he found vaguely amusing. He didn’t feel threatened by the fact that Elio appreciated beauty in whatever form it came in. Elio shared his bed each night, and exuded his desire for him every time that he looked him or when they shared each other’s bodies. He didn’t find Elio’s obvious desire for other people as threatening, he would rather allow it, than try and prohibit it or get jealous, and drive Elio away.

Oliver smiled and simply shrugged away Saphr’s initial embarrassment; he knew what they both did, and he wasn’t at all offended by the fact that Saphr had thought him a likely customer. He looked like a wealthy American, someone who was an obvious target. He looked past Saphr, and noticed the man he’d seen on his first night here, playing cards at one of the table.

‘Who is that?’ he asked Étoile, ‘He seems to be here a lot.’

Étoile looked over her shoulder to see where he was gesturing to, ‘Oh, that’s Vincent. He’s Martine’s twin brother. He is the best poker player in Paris.’

‘Is he now?’ he asked, his curiosity peaked as he watched two men speak to the man sitting down, before they themselves sat down at the table and begin to play.

‘Are you going to play?’ Elio asked him, sipping at one of the drinks in his hand, ‘Shit, that’s strong.’

‘Yeah, I don’t think Martine uses an optic level,’ said Oliver with a grin, watching his boy’s face as he took another sip.

‘A what?’ asked Elio.

‘The thing that goes on bottle tops, measures out sprits and stops them after a certain amount’ he said.

Elio shrugged, ‘Yeah we don’t have those in Italy either.’

He chuckled, ‘I figured. It’s probably an American thing to think that we actually _measure_ our drinks.’

Elio grinned and took another long drink, ‘Do you want anything ladies?’

Saphr shook her head, ‘I can’t. I have work in twenty minutes.’

Étoile looked sharply across at her, a frown appearing on her face that she instantly tried to hide.

‘ _M. Rousseau a-t-il trouvé quelqu'un pour la nuit? Tu les connais? Les avez-vous déjà rencontrés?’_ said Étoile quickly to her friend. Saphr just shrugged and shook her head. Étoile pulled a face, and Oliver couldn’t quite figure out what was going on between them. Clearly it was something Étoile didn’t like, but Saphr wasn’t prepared to fight her on the issue.

‘Would you like one Étoile?’ asked Elio, not commenting on whatever had just happened, even though he could understand it. Oliver would have to ask him later, if he remembered.

‘ _Oui_ ,’ she said, ‘Yes, I think so, and then, perhaps, a dance?’

‘Gin?’ asked Elio, holding up the spare drink he’d got from Oliver. Étoile pulled a face, which suggested that she wasn’t a huge gin fan.

‘Guess not then,’ said Elio with a chuckle, ‘Come on then, we’ll go find Martine at the bar.’

Étoile nodded with a smile, ‘ _Je préférerais ça.’_

Oliver laughed at the expression on her face, and took a long drink of his own gin and tonic, definitely not as opposed to it as Étoile was. Elio was right, it was very strong, and he knew that if he drank both of these, he would be pretty far gone as well. It didn’t matter too much to him, he wasn’t due to start helping Jeanne until the day after tomorrow, so he could stay in bed if he was hungover.

Elio grinned up at him, ‘Are you going to speak to Vincent about playing with him?’

‘Yes,’ said Oliver, ‘I think I’ll go find out how he does it.’

‘Alright,’ said Elio, leaning up to kiss him gently on the mouth, ‘Be careful.’

‘I will be,’ he said, ‘But he doesn’t look that dangerous.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Elio, ‘You never know.’

Oliver kissed him gently again, just to calm his his worries, ‘It’ll be alright.’

‘How do I say, ‘can I join the game?’’ Oliver asked, catching his boy’s hand before he slipped away into the crowds.

Elio chuckled, ‘Just ask ‘ _puis-je rejoindre le jeu?_ ’’

Oliver muttered the words back to him, and Elio helped him with the pronunciation of _rejoindre_ , which he struggled with momentarily.

Elio nodded, and turned with Étoile back towards the bar. Oliver approached the table with the men playing cards, causing the man named Vincent to look up. Oliver repeated what Elio had told him to say.

Vincent nodded, ‘ _joues-tu au poker?’_

‘ _Oui_ ,’ said Oliver, ‘But, can I just watch… err _regarder? un jeu_?’

He felt so uncomfortable trying out his French, but Vincent seemed to understand what he was trying to say, and gestured to a chair for Oliver to sit down. He wanted to watch a game before joining in, to find out how the man played, and what sort of game he played. He noticed that Vincent used his own cards, and shuffled and dealt them himself. The chips were also his, and Oliver couldn’t help but notice that he had a lot more in front of him than the two other men he was playing with. He sat back in his chair, his hand up to his mouth as he began to carefully watch the play. He knew he was a good poker player, but he wanted to be sure that he wasn’t playing with a sharp or a cheat before betting any of his own money.

***

The alcohol had definitely taken effect, singing through his blood like a favourite song he couldn’t resist. He wanted to answer the song; a siren call singing directly to him, urging his body to move to the music. He let his limbs react freely to the beat that was emanating from the percussion instruments in the hands of the skilled musicians playing in the band. The lights were turned down low to match the mood of the room as the night grew later.

After the two gins bought from him by Oliver, he’d had a cocktail, followed by a shot of some kind of strong spirit, that Étoile had given him as a thank you for her earlier drink. He noticed that Martine didn’t charge them for that one, as it seemed that Étoile had some kind of arrangement with the house. He guessed that was to be expected. Saphr was nowhere to be seen, as she had long since disappeared to go to work for the night. He hadn’t mentioned it anymore to Étoile as she was clearly unhappy with whatever arrangement had been made for Saphr. He’d heard her mention someone called Monsieur Rousseau when speaking to Saphr, and he vaguely wondered what he had to do with all of this. He’d never heard of him before, and had not seen him around at Alexandre’s bar. He was clearly someone that Étoile didn’t think a lot of, but both she and Saphr had to do as he said. He made a mental note to ask Étoile at a more convenient time, when his brain wasn’t quite so sluggish with alcohol.

Right now, however, he was in the middle of the dancefloor, his hands on Étoile’s waist, their bodies close, as they moved to the beat of the music. He forgot any insecurities he might have had about the way he moved when he was under the influence of alcohol, and he just let the music flow over him. Étoile was a good dancer and her feet were moving with salsa steps that were far too complicated for him to copy, but he was content to move to the rhythm whilst she took the lead. He was aware of her breasts pressing against his chest as she moved in close, before taking a couple of steps back again, a devilish grin on her face. He couldn’t bring his lizard brain around to thinking about why he shouldn’t really be paying attention to this kind of thing. He was only human, and she was beautiful, regardless of what he should or shouldn’t be doing in reality.

She turned around and dropped to the floor, rolling her hips as slunk back to her feet. His mouth fell open slightly as he watched her do this, a small smile glinting on her sultry mouth accented with lipstick. His eyes flitted around the room, looking for the reason that he knew that this wasn’t quite right. It took him a moment or two more for him to find the eyes he was looking for, their gazes locking together regardless of anyone else in the room. Oliver was sitting in semi-darkness, his relaxed figure half in the light and half in the shadow. He had one of those gorgeous hands raised to his mouth, one of his long fingers resting just on his bottom lip as he watched this display in front of him.

Elio couldn’t make out his facial expression, but his body was relaxed, the hand not touching his mouth was resting between his spread legs. Elio shivered to himself as he imagined Oliver watching him in a more private setting, making the blond man touch himself. The thought excited him, being able to tease Oliver, but him not being able to touch. He felt himself get a harder at the thought, and he ran his hands down Étoile’s body, pulling her tight to him, so that she could feel his arousal as well, undoubtedly what she had intended from the start. He kept his eyes fixed on Oliver as he spun her back around, so that her ass was pressed to his body, and they moved together, with his hips glued to hers as they rolled to the rhythm, in a theatrical version of some other, more private, act. He danced this way with her until the song finished and the music petered out, spinning her away from him as the beat died. Only then did he let his eyes flicker back to her face, and saw the glint of amusement in her expression. He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers, thinking that that gesture could say more than any words could at that particular moment.

He was breathing heavily as he watched Oliver get to his feet, and walk purposefully across the floor towards them, like a hunter stalking his prey. Étoile dipped a little bow to him as her dance partner and then wiggled away across the floor, ostensibly in search of another partner or more drinks, neither of which she would want for throughout the evening. Men and women throughout the bar hadn’t been able to keep their eyes off her all evening.

The next moment Oliver’s broad and towering presence was practically on top of him, as he took him by the waist, and instantly slid his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, pulled him flush to his body, grinding his crotch against Elio’s hip, so he could feel the erection in his jeans.

‘Come on,’ Oliver practically purred into his ear, ‘We’re leaving, before I lose all control and just fuck you in the middle of the dancefloor.’

Elio was glad of Oliver’s hand on his waist and gripping his ass, because he felt as if those words might make him melt at the sheer desire in Oliver’s voice. He had never felt more _wanted_ than he did with this man, and that was completely intoxicating.

‘Did you like that then?’ he asked as he folded himself into Oliver’s side so they could walk out of the bar, Oliver’s hand still in his back pocket, holding him close.

‘You have no idea,’ muttered Oliver, nipping at his earlobe, before sucking on the skin he’d just bitten.

They left the bar and the cooling air of the Parisian night hit their faces. It did nothing to cool the heat that was pounding under both of their skins, however, and Elio gasped as Oliver pushed him against the wall nearest the door, and kissed him roughly, almost bruising the soft skin of his mouth. Oliver’s tongue instantly invaded his mouth, demanding that Elio give in to the passion of his kiss.

‘ _Mine_ ,’ growled Oliver, in between kisses, his hands pulling Elio’s body tight against his hard form, Elio’s hands on his chest, his back, his ass, everywhere that he could touch in those short moments. Elio could feel the muscles tight under his skin, and the hard length in his pants, announcing his arousal for him.

He wasn’t entirely sure how they made it the quarter of a mile or so to Mme Bernard’s without Oliver completely losing it and just making love to him the street. He figured it was a close-run thing.

‘On the bed,’ Oliver said to him the moment they stepped into the dark attic room, only lit by the moonlight and the streetlight shining in where they hadn’t closed off the curtains. Elio toed off his shoes and did as he was bid, wondering how his lover would want him. Oliver matched his actions, and undid the top few buttons of his shirt, and ran his hand through his hair.

‘Now,’ said Oliver, standing over him, his eyes dark, ‘Tell me what you would do to her.’

It took Elio a moment to process what Oliver had just said to him. Clearly his dance with Étoile had given him a few ideas that he hadn’t anticipated. Oliver hand wrapped into his hair as he stood above him, pulling his head back so that he looked up at him.

‘Tell me,’ growled Oliver, as Elio brain caught up with the images flooding his head.

‘I’d push her down onto the bed, and lie in between her legs,’ said Elio, thinking how this was going to go, and what Oliver wanted from him. His thought was immediately proved to be right as Oliver pushed him on the shoulder, making him lie back, and parted his knees, settling in between his legs. He captured his mouth in a deep kiss, his hands running up and down his thighs, encouraging Elio to wrap his legs around his hips. Elio rolled his hips up into Oliver’s, their clothed lengths rubbing together through their clothes, but Oliver pulled back, letting Elio know that this isn’t what he intended.

‘I’d take off her shirt, kissing her neck, and down her chest, getting rid of her bra if she was wearing one, sucking on her nipples. I’d pay attention to each-,’ Elio arched his back as Oliver copied his words, his shirt being quickly discarded, and Oliver dipping his head to take one of his nipples into his mouth, his tongue hot and wet against the sensitive nub.

‘I-I’d suck on each, and if she liked it, I’d bite them, to get the blood flowing,’ Elio whispered, moaning as Oliver did just that, his hands in soft contrast to the sharpness of his teeth on his nipples, coils of pleasure gathering in Elio’s stomach as Oliver worshipped his body.

‘And then?’ muttered Oliver, his tongue licking the abused flesh he’d just bitten.

‘T-t-then,’ stuttered Elio, ‘I’d slide my hands down her waist, admiring the feminine softness of her body, before undoing the top of her jeans, or pushing her dress off her hips.’

Oliver’s hands undid the button of his jeans and slid them down over his legs.

‘Would you go down on her?’ asked Oliver, his low voice barely audible as it strained with desire, ‘Would you use that pretty little mouth of yours on her cunt? Lick her? Suck on her clit? Make her cum with your tongue, like you do for me?’

‘Uh, yes, yes,’ Elio’s brain short circuiting as Oliver’s warm mouth ghosted over the tip of his cock, still constrained by his boxers. Oliver’s thumb teased the top of his waistband before he freed Elio’s cock and took the whole length in his mouth, causing Elio to gasp and let out a strangled sob of breath, his brain a mess of alcohol and pleasure at the feeling. He bobbed his head a few times, and Elio’s brain began to go far _far_ away.

Oliver pulled off with a wet pop, causing Elio to whine at the loss. His eyes were practically glittering in the darkness of their bedroom, as he looked down at him. Elio reached up, trying to encourage him to go back to what he had just been doing, his hips rocking off the cover almost of their own accord.

‘I want to watch you,’ Oliver growled, reaching down and encircling Elio’s cock in his hand, using the slick and spit as he started to stroke slowly. He used the other hand to reach onto the bedside table where they kept the lube and snicked the cap open to slick up his fingers. At the first touch to his hole, Elio’s mouth fell open, and he moaned as he looked up the god in his bed, or perhaps he was a demon; an expression of all his desires in one totally sinful package. At that moment Elio couldn’t care either way, as long as Oliver kept touching him like _that_.

‘I want to watch you,’ Oliver repeated, scissoring his fingers inside his body, ‘Watch you pleasure her, make her cum, and then…’

‘Then?’ gasped Elio, as Oliver crooked his fingers finding that centre of pleasure in his body that made him see stars, ‘ _Fuck… touch me there… Oliver!_ ’

‘And then, I’d make her prepare you, watch as she opened up your body to take mine. You wouldn’t be allowed to move, I’d make you hold your knees open, so I could watch her play with your hole, making you ready for my cock,’ said Oliver, his voice barely above a whisper, rubbing continually over his prostate, making Elio writhe under his ministrations, and that the images Oliver was planting in his brain.

Elio whined as his fingers left his body, his hips chasing Oliver’s hand to continue the sensation, but Oliver held his hips flat to the bed as he quickly undid his own jeans, finally, _finally_ , revealing his beautiful cock to Elio’s gaze. He was desperately hard as he kicked away his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head, his cock red and straining as he lined up to Elio’s body within the space of about ten seconds.

Elio could feel him just teasing his entrance and he tried to rock his hips down, but Oliver’s other hand had resumed its position, holding him flat to the mattress.

‘And then,’ groaned Oliver, as just the tip of his cock breached Elio’s body, causing him to moan, biting his bottom lip as he very nearly lost his mind. He paused just inside of Elio’s body. The dual sensations of what Oliver was doing and the picture he was painting with his words was driving him crazy, ‘And then I’d flip you over.’

He pulled out suddenly, causing Elio to instantly begin to protest at the loss, but before he could get more than half a word out, Oliver had grabbed his hip and pushed him over, dragging him up to his knees, so he was on all fours on the cover.

‘And then, I’d fuck you,’ said Oliver, driving into him into one stroke, his hips meeting Elio’s, causing all of the breath to leave his body, and his hands to claw at the sheets beneath him.

‘And watch you fuck her,’ he growled into his ear, as he began to snap his hips, ‘Watch you slide into her body beneath both of ours...’

‘Can you imagine it?’ Oliver asked, the filthy words spilling from his mouth as dark as the gasps of breath falling from Elio’s ‘Her warmth, her wetness, and me, watching you, and then fucking you deep, splitting you open on my cock.’

He let out a strangled sob at the picture that Oliver was creating, ‘ _Fuck, I can’t last… Oliver_ …. please!’

‘Cum then babe,’ said Oliver, reaching around and beginning to stroke Elio’s cock in fast strokes in tandem with the snap of his hips, ‘Because tonight… you’re mine.’

Elio’s arms nearly gave out at the dual sensations in his hole and around his cock and fireworks exploded behind his eyes, ‘Yours, _yours_.’

It was only Oliver’s hand holding onto his waist that held him up as his whole body began to shake as the first orgasm of the night took hold of his form and he came, his seed spilling through Oliver’s fingers and his hole tightening around his lover’s cock, causing Oliver to moan and bite his shoulder to control himself.

‘ _Mine_ ,’ Oliver said as Elio came down from his orgasm, biting the juncture between the neck and his shoulder, still buried deep inside his body.

‘ _Yours_ ,’ Elio agreed, groaning as Oliver pulled out and turned him back over, so he could gaze into the face of god as he fulfilled every unspoken promise he had made the moment he had taken him to his bed.


	10. Million Years Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody has secrets in this game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is supporting this story! I know it's not quite as *exciting* as 'Into Darkness' but I promise I've got loads of cool things planned and plot twists and om nom nom. 
> 
> Lots of history things in this chapter, so see the end notes for details on that! 
> 
> Thank you to so much to everyone who is writing me comments/leaving me kudos. It truly truly means the world to me. 
> 
> Chapter Title: Million Years Ago - Adele 
> 
> ♪ I let my heart decide the way  
> When I was young  
> Deep down I must have always known  
> That this would be inevitable  
> To earn my stripes I'd have to pay  
> And bear my soul ♪ 
> 
> V  
> xxx

Two days later, Oliver walked back to the library where he had met Jeanne. It was a bright sunny day in early September, only slightly cooler than the weather had been when they’d arrived in Paris a handful of weeks ago. Today she was going to bring along her sponsor, so that he could meet him, and give his official okay on Oliver helping her out. When they’d spoken, Jeanne had said there would be absolutely no reason as to why he would say no, but she thought it best that they did actually meet in person. Oliver agreed. Apart from anything else it would be nice to know who he was working for. He knew from personal experience that established academics liked it if they were kept in the loop about all things, and if he was the one paying for the project, then it was a good idea to keep him happy.

He’d left Elio in bed. He didn’t need to open the bookshop for another couple of hours, and was quite happy to spend the extra time snuggled between the sheets they shared. As he’d turned to leave via the balcony door – they’d taken to going in and out this way so that they disturbed Mme. Bernard as little as possible – he’d looked back at Elio. He’d been half asleep, not completely gone because he was aware of Oliver moving around. His mop of ebony hair was spilled out across the pillow, an arm tossed over his eyes to keep out any light from the morning, the matching coloured patch of hair under his arm visible. His mouth was slightly open with his relaxed breath, his bottom lip wet slightly with spit. The sheets had dropped down to his waist in the night, as it had been a warm one, and his lithe body was relaxed in sleep. In that moment Oliver wanted to stay; not to get back into the bed or to make love to him necessarily, but he felt he could simply stay and watch him sleep. He was so utterly beautiful.

He’d shaken himself out of his reverie and left the flat, heading down the stairs, trying not to be too noisy on the iron slats as he’d done so. He waved to the man with the dog who was having his morning cigarette on the balcony opposite. The man waved back as he tapped on his cigarette to flick the ash off the end.

The walk was quick and he arrived outside of the library a few minutes before it opened. He looked across the street and saw a café, Parisians outside having their breakfast or grabbing coffee quickly on their way to somewhere else. He looked as he crossed the street and strolled over to the café, ordering an espresso to go. He hadn’t had anything before leaving flat, not wanting to disturb Elio any more than was completely necessary. He paid and was back at the library door just as the petite brunette girl who’d spoken to him the other day was opening up. She smiled at him brightly, and he walked in, clearly the first there. Jeanne had said she’d be there for nine or nine-thirty, apparently her patron liked to relax over breakfast, and was not one to be rushed.

The last time he’d been here he’d taken out a few books about Paris at the end of the sixteenth century to brush up on the general context of what he’d be looking at. It didn’t matter that he was no expert on all of it, it was his research skills he would be using, to examine rolls and transcripts, rather than any particular knowledge of the time. He would leave that stuff to Jeanne. This was her specialism, he was just helping her get through the material.

He was browsing some of the anti-Huguenot propaganda pamphlets that had been produced at the time, when Jeanne arrived about fifteen minutes later. In her wake was a portly middle-aged man, with silvery hair and a waistline that suggested he had a penchant for meals other than just breakfast.

‘Oliver!’ said Jeanne, her eyes lighting up when she spotted him, ‘You came!’

Oliver nodded, putting down the pamphlets, ‘Yes, excited to get started.’

‘Oliver, this is Professor Brian Carpenter; Professor of Early Modern French and Italian History, with a specialism in religious conflicts,’ said Jeanne, introducing the man behind her, ‘He’s held tenures at various universities. Mostly recently Trinity College, Dublin, but this year he is on sabbatical, hence the speeding up of this project. Brian, this is Oliver; a researcher from the States who recently moved to Paris.’

Oliver held out his hand for the portly man to take, fully aware that he absolutely towered over the other man. It didn’t seem to bother the professor though, who just laughed heartily and said a gruff hello.

‘Very fortuitous that you two met then, eh?’ he asked.

‘I guess so,’ said Jeanne, ‘I just ran into Oliver here and we got talking. Oliver needed some work, so there we are. I know you’re keen to speed this project up somewhat, so I thought he would be an excellent asset.’

‘Yes quite,’ said Professor Carpenter, eyeing him somewhat beadily, ‘Why do you not have a research job at an institution then?’

Oliver knew that this was a loaded question, but he answered it with a relaxed tone, ‘I did have a job lined up for me back in the States, but for personal reasons I chose to stay in Europe, and therefore had to let the opportunity go.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Professor Carpenter.

Oliver shrugged, ‘Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes other things come along that we have to go with when the opportunity presents itself.’

‘Very true,’ said the professor, agreeing with the wisdom in this statement, ‘Well, I see no problem in your helping Jeanne with this project. You know the premise, yes?’

‘Some of it,’ said Oliver, ‘Jeanne is investigating the persecution of French Huguenots before and after the St Bartholomew Day Massacre in the sixteenth century.’

‘Yes,’ said the professor, ‘These were a highly influential sect of Parisian society before the massacre, and then following the attack they lost a lot of power and prestige and went underground. This didn’t mean they lost their community or their powers of infiltration, they just became a lot better at wielding it in secret. This project is interested in examining how far that power extended etc., what happened to them and the like.’

‘Sounds interesting,’ said Oliver, ‘And at the moment the focus is on prison rolls?’

‘We’re looking for select families, and the different members of each; I have their names here. We need to know whether they were sent to prison at all between certain years, what for, how long they were there for, and if any property was forfeit when they were imprisoned. Then we can start to pick up the threads as to what happened in the years following the massacre and after any incarcerations. We can then cross reference them with any catholic indictments and see where the same names appear,’ explained Jeanne.

‘Sounds systematic enough,’ said Oliver.

‘Most of the prison rolls are written in Latin or French, and the Catholic tracts are in Latin,’ said the professor, ‘Jeanne said that you read Latin?’

‘Yes,’ said Oliver, ‘And Ancient Greek, and sections of middle imperial Aramaic, although I don’t think that’ll be much help with this project!’

‘The Greek perhaps,’ said the professor with a shrug, ‘Some of the high intellectual texts of the time are written in Greek. The Aramaic, not so much, I would imagine. What about French?’

‘I don’t read French anywhere close to fluently,’ he admitted, his palms open in a gesture of honesty, ‘I am learning, however. My partner speaks fluent French, however, so if I take any texts home then they will be able to help me if needs be.’

He was careful not to gender Elio in his admission to the professor. He had no idea what the man’s opinions on homosexuality were, and whilst Oliver would love to be able to tell everybody he met that the beautiful creature he had left in bed this morning was his, he knew that many people weren’t accepting of it. He didn’t want to jeopardise a potential job because of a runaway tongue. He felt a breath flash of shame run through him at that thought; what was more important, honesty or money? He would never deny Elio for anything, but surely merely omitting the whole truth wasn’t the same thing? He shook the thought away. Right now was not the time for philosophical questions; he needed this work. He would battle with those ideas later.

‘I will deal with most of the French translations,’ Jeanne was saying, ‘But if there’s any leftover work then I would be grateful for any help I could get. Your partner will of course be compensated for any work.’

‘Yes quite,’ said Professor Carpenter.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Oliver.

‘Alright then!’ said the Professor, ‘You seem like a good fit Oliver, I’m glad that the powers that be worked to bring you into Jeanne’s line of sight – it’ll make this project a lot easier for the both of us. You seem like a very competent researcher, with a good track record, if what Jeanne said is right.’

Oliver wasn’t going to reiterate his record there and then, so he simply shrugged and said thank you.

‘I will leave you two to it then,’ said the man, ‘I am doing my own research whilst in Paris. I expect weekly reports from Jeanne, and after those have been satisfactorily received you will receive your pay, cash in hand. She knows how it goes.’

‘Alright,’ said Oliver, ‘That seems fair.’

‘Excellent,’ said Jeanne, ‘Thank you Brian.’

With that the portly professor was off at a surprisingly fast trot, out of the room and out of sight.

‘Okay,’ said Oliver turning back to Jeanne, who was in the process of tying her hair up in a bun on the top of her head, so that her long hair was out of her face, ‘How far have you got, and where would you like me to start?’

Jeanne smiled and produced two large files from her bag. The first was groaning with papers, the metal clasps barely able to keep it shut, the second was much lighter and appeared to be several pages just covered with names.

‘Okay, well this is my evidence file,’ said Jeanne, gesturing to the huge file before the second, ‘This is my names. If you find anything, I note it down, or take a copy of it. I think I’m going to need to get another evidence file very soon, because this one is on the verge of breaking. I’ve been through all the names up until the beginning of August 1572, and have just arrived at ‘D’ during that critical month. So, if you could start at the end of the list, working backwards through alphabet, and eventually we’ll meet in the middle. I want to know, if we can, what all of these people were doing in the weeks leading up to the massacre, the days of the attack, and immediately afterwards.’

‘Okay,’ said Oliver, drawing the list of names towards him. He flipped opened his notebook and noted down the first ten names, starting with the ‘Y’s’ at the end of the list. That would give him a place to begin. He headed for the front desk, hoping that they would have the prison rolls ready for him to pick up; Jeanne had left them there after her last session so that they didn’t need fetching each time. There was no point continually putting them back in the archives if they were going to be using them every day. The rolls they were using were facsimiles, so there was no need for gloves or protective papers in order to use them. That would come later for some of the materials they would need; private letters and the such like which had never been made up into copies for their own protection.

He was in his element here. He collected some of the rolls from the librarian and headed to the empty table Jeanne had commandeered. He put them down heavily, and drawing the first one towards him, dated _18 August 1572_ , the same day as the marriage of Margaret of Valois to Henry III of Navarre, and began to read. A peace settled over him, and he began to lose himself in his concentration.

**

It was quiet in the shop that day, and Elio was using the quietness as an excuse to continue reading _The Bell Jar_ by Sylvia Plath. It was one of those books that he’d always meant to read, but just had never got around to throughout the hot sultry summers of doing nothing in Italy. That was one of the many joys of working here; Mme. Bernard gave him free range of the bookshop shelves, as long as he didn’t bend the spines, dog ear the pages, or spill anything on the books. There was a section of the bookshop that was for second-hand books, and he tried to pick his reading materials from there, so as to leave the fresh new tomes in pristine condition for the customers.

It was in one of the moments where nobody was in the front room, but perusing the second or third rooms (nonfiction and reading areas), that he took a moment for a bathroom break. It was at the back of the shop, behind what he assumed was originally intended to be a kiddies gate, but that could be locked or unlocked with a key. The idea being that the bookshops patrons wouldn’t have access to the storeroom, the staff toilet, or – heaven forbid – Mme. Bernard’s flat.

As he left the bathroom, he turned to the right and once again noticed the door next to the storeroom door. He’d seen it before, of course, but never paid it much mind as he was usually on the way to or from the storeroom, or some other errand. He figured it was just the basement or something along those lines. Either way, his curiosity was peaked at that moment, and he reached out to try the handle. It was locked. Of course it was.

Part of him felt ashamed for being so nosy, but the other part was intrigued. Mme. Bernard had invited the two of them into her life, and had not held back from any part of her home or business. They had had dinner in her flat, she’d let them have the attic, they had free range of the shop and the books therein. But she’d never mentioned this door or what was behind it. It made the fire of his curiosity rage. Part of his brain was yelling at him to not be so daft; it probably _was_ just a basement, and he was getting all worked over nothing. What else could it be? On the other hand, the book storeroom was fit to overflowing, so that some of the boxes of books from the latest delivery had had to be stacked into the hallway outside. If it was just a basement, a storage space for all intents and purposes, why didn’t they use it for the book boxes?

He looked down at the set of keys in his hand that he had just used to open the kiddy gate, wondering if one of them would fit in the keyhole. It was a big lock, bronze in colour, so he figured he was probably looking for a similar looking key. There was only one key on the bunch that looked like it might be big enough. He looked behind him, and a glancing look at the stairs to Mme. Bernard’s flat, suddenly fearing that she would be watching him snooping. She had gone out for the day with some friends, a luxury she had said she hadn’t had when she’d been trying to run the shop on her own.

Despite this, a shiver of nervousness washed over him as he tried the key in the lock. It slid inside. A flash of excitement went through him, and he tried to turn it. It wouldn’t budge. He felt a flutter of disappointment. Was it the right key and the lock was just old or stuck? Or was it the wrong key? He took the key out, and for some odd reason rubbed it on his jeans, thinking that this might magically make a difference. He slid it back into the lock, and it went in just as easily as before, but it still wouldn’t turn in either direction, no matter how much he tried to wiggle it. Maybe he wasn’t strong enough? Perhaps he should ask Oliver to try later? He doubted Oliver would be as bothered by what was behind the door as he was, and probably tell him that he shouldn’t be snooping in Madame Bernard’s things. _He knew that_.

He turned back when he heard the tinkling of a bell that was on the front desk. A customer wanted serving. He hurriedly withdrew the key from the lock, and went back down the corridor, locking the kiddy gate on the way back, before heading back into the front room. A girl of about twenty-two was standing by the desk, a broad smile on her face as she hefted at least six books onto the counter. She’d been in the shop for about an hour, perusing all the shelves, and had clearly found a lot that she liked. Elio smiled at her.

‘ _Parles-tu anglais ou français?_ ’ Elio asked as he slid back behind the desk.

‘ _Allemand en fait, mais je peux me débrouiller en français,_ ’ she said. Elio smirked at her wording; “get by” in French – she could clearly speak it pretty much fluently.  

‘ _Tres bien,’_ he said, glad that he wouldn’t be called upon to rely on his relatively shabby German that was this girl’s native language. He really should ask his mother to speak German to him more often so that he could work on that language. He felt a flash of sadness go through him as he thought about his _mama_ , he hoped that she and _papa_ would be able to come and visit sometime soon. He had used the phone in Mme. Bernard’s flat a day or two after they had moved in to let them know that he was safe and that they had found a place to live. He hadn’t really felt comfortable using Mme. Bernard’s phone for international calls for too long, so he hadn’t been able to talk for the hours that he wanted to. It had been enough to heard both of their voices, however.

He would need to ring them again very soon, and make sure that they knew they were welcome to come and visit. It wasn’t like he and Oliver had run away. Well, _they had_ , but not to get away from his parents. They’d run to get away from the feeling that they couldn’t be together. They’d run to get to a place that was theirs, a place and a time where they could carve out what “them” meant, and what being together was going to do to their lives.

He thanked the girl for buying the books and waved her on her way with a bright smile.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel homesick. He hadn’t even been gone that long; it was less than two weeks since they had been stood on that platform. So much had happened in that time though that it could’ve been a lifetime. He felt a tiny bit of guilt at the feeling of homesickness, almost as if he was betraying Oliver for feeling so. He loved Oliver. He really really did. He loved the life that they were beginning to create here, that they would lead together. But did that mean that he wasn’t allowed to miss what he had left behind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History notes: 
> 
> 1/ St Bartholomew's Day Massacre occurred in Paris in the summer of 1572. It was an attack on Parisian protestants (otherwise known as Huguenots). It is estimated that between 3,000 and 10,000 protestants were killed as the violence spread from the city into the provinces. 
> 
> 2/ Facsimile - a copy/plain text version of an original document or manuscript that is extremely delicate. Usually created so that more people can look at the text without damaging the original. 
> 
> 3/ Aramaic - language from which Hebrew is "descended" (sort of). 
> 
> 4/ If you want to read more about the Huguenots of Paris (y'never know!), then you can check out this wiki page: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huguenots


	11. Lighting Bolt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which lightening strikes from out of the blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♪That's what happens// When it's you who's standing in the path of a lightning bolt♪ 
> 
> Chapter Title: Lighting Bolt by Jake Bugg. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continues to support this story. I love you <3

There was a storm raging outside. It was one of those late summer storms that was powerful in its intensity, as if Freyr was battling with the other deities not to relinquish his summer season over to their lesser ones; if he was going to go out, and then he would do so with a (literal) bang. The rain was lashing at the window panes and the pavements outside were awash with rain, reflecting the heavy leaden sky in the puddles that had formed. Lightening had been streaking the sky earlier, paired with the odd rumble of thunder.

Elio had opened up the shop earlier that day, but after two hours of no customers, and having to pitch water out of the front door where the puddles were rising and coming over the door jamb, he’d decided to give it up as a bad job, and with Mme. Bernard’s blessing had closed up for the day. This was not the sort of weather that anyone wanted to be outside in, never mind actively shopping for books.

So, as it was Sunday, Oliver had been in the flat when his boy had come traipsing back up the stairs (from Mme. Bernard’s flat, rather than venturing out in this weather), his socks and shoes wet from where he’d been standing in a couple of inches of water in the dip outside the front door, ensuring that no more come in. Mme Bernard actually kept a couple of sandbags in the storeroom for this sort of weather, well aware that the dip on the front doorstep; caused by hundreds of years, and hundreds of thousands of pairs of feet, meant that water was prone to flooding in. Elio had propped them into place, but closing the front door, and hoping that that would keep the water at bay.  

‘Given up?’ Oliver asked sympathetically, as Elio closed the door to their flat behind him. He was sitting in one of the chairs beside the small bookshelf in the corner, the reading lamp illuminating one of the texts he’d borrowed from the library.

‘Yeah,’ said Elio, peeling off his socks and taking them into the bathroom to dump in the sink, ‘Nobody was coming in any way!’

‘I can believe that,’ said Oliver, glancing out of the window, where the rain was still pouring down, the sky ominously tinted green and purple, as if it’s sickness hadn’t yet completely burst forth, ‘It’s filthy out there.’

‘Mmmm,’ said Elio, returning from the bathroom, and looking around, ‘Have we got any food in? I’m starving.’

‘There’s not a lot,’ he said, closing his book and standing up, ‘We were going to go shopping today, but…’

‘Yeah, let’s not do that,’ said Elio, walking over to the small kitchen, ‘What do we have?’

‘There’s some bread left from yesterday, a bit of cheese, butter. I think there’s one pain aux chocolate that you bought on Friday,’ said Oliver, trying to remember, ‘Maybe some fruit, and a bit of wine?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ said Elio, bending over to look in the fridge and then, seemingly satisfied by what he saw, straightening up and grinning at him, ‘Indoor picnic?’

He looked at his boy, an eyebrow raised, ‘What is an indoor picnic?’

Elio mouth hung open, ‘You’ve never had an indoor picnic?’

‘Well, _no_ ,’ he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of defeat, ‘I thought the whole point of a picnic was that you took the food _somewhere else_ to eat it?’

Elio rolled his eyes, ‘No imagination.’

‘Hey!’ he said, pretending to be offended by this insinuation.

‘It can be anything you want to be,’ said Elio, ‘So, as it’s miserable as fuck out there, we’re going to build a blanket fort and have a picnic in it.’

He couldn’t help but giggle at the look in Elio’s eyes, ‘A blanket fort? Oh man, I don’t think I’ve built one of those since I was about nine.’

‘Well that settles it then!’ said Elio gleefully, ‘Come on then, come help.’

He turned back to their bed, which had been haphazardly made that morning when they had both left it. Elio quickly shoved the duvet, pillows and sheet onto the floor, dragging the mattress off it onto the floor.

‘Help me tip this up,’ said Elio, holding one end of the mattress. Oliver grabbed the other corner to bring it onto its side, and together they manoeuvred it between the two chairs, so that it created a “wall” of sorts between the two. Elio then grabbed two of the pillows and placed them opposite each other, in line with the upturned mattress. Oliver watched as he threw the sheet over the entire lot, arranging the furniture so there was an area inside the lot, cocooned by the sheet. Elio doubled down by grabbing a couple of blankets from the box at the end of the bed, and shoving those inside as well, so it looked more like a nest than a blanket fort by the time he’d finished.

‘See, perfect?’ Elio said, once he’d finished.

Oliver chuckled at his enthusiasm, which then quickly turned to surprise as a huge crack of thunder rattled the window panes. Elio yelped in surprise, jumping a little at the noise.

‘Not a fan of thunderstorms?’ asked Oliver, as the brunette looked nervously outside.

Elio looked back at him and shrugged nervously, ‘Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving.’

‘You get in,’ said Oliver, gesturing to the fort that Elio had built, ‘I’ll get the food.’

Elio smiled gratefully and disappeared into the nest of blankets and pillows that he had created, shuffling them around to get comfortable.

Oliver turned back to the small kitchen area, and got together the bits and pieces that they had in the cupboards and leftover in the fridge. He arranged it all on the bread board, and grabbed the bottle of wine from the fridge as well. He couldn’t manage to carry glasses too; they would just have to be trashy and share from the bottle, unless Elio felt like getting up again to grab some glasses. He was sure that the other boy wouldn’t mind.

As he dipped into the “fort” that Elio had built he saw that the other boy had arranged them in a semi-circle, so that they could recline like Romans whilst supping on their picnic-esque dinner. His boy was already reclined, looking every inch like a roman statue, despite his baggy jeans and talking heads t-shirt.

‘Cosy,’ he commented, sitting down on his hip opposite Elio, who immediately reached for some of the fruit and cheese.

‘You must be hungry,’ Oliver said mildly amused, as he watched Elio practically inhale the clementine segments that he’d laid out on the board.

‘You didn’t want any of that, did you?’ asked Elio sheepishly, swallowing hard around the last of the clementines.

‘No,’ chuckled Oliver, gesturing for him to continue, ‘You’re alright.’

Elio grinned, and then started on the cheese, this time allowing Oliver to at least have some of it before it completely disappeared.

Oliver looked across at him as they ate, the cadence of the torrential rain outside providing the background noise.

‘Does this make you happy?’ he asked Elio suddenly.

Elio looked up at him, mouth full of biscuits, before he swallowed heavily.

‘Very,’ he said, ‘Does it you?’

Oliver nodded, watching happily as Elio’s long fingers reached for the board again. He didn’t need to speak to affirm that. He felt this deep contentment in the pit of his stomach as he watched his boy. He knew that if they continued then it was inevitable that they would disagree on things, or fall out, or fight. But right now, he felt happier than he’d ever been, in this blanket fort, with Elio. It was something that he’d never thought about doing before, but as it was, he couldn’t imagine anything else he’d rather be doing.

‘How’s the research going?’ Elio asked, just after Oliver had poured out some wine.

‘It’s going,’ said Oliver with a grin, ‘It’s always the way with these kind of projects, you slog on and on and on, and then all of a sudden there’s a breakthrough.’

‘But no breakthrough yet?’ asked Elio.

‘No breakthrough yet,’ he said, ‘It’s unlikely to be like that with this project. I am literally tracking and logging names and families in the sixteenth century. I don’t think there’s suddenly going to be a big aha moment.’

‘Yeah but didn’t you say that it was linked to Catholic wealth or something like that?’ asked Elio.

‘No, it’s that the Catholics took a lot of the Huguenot wealth following the rebellion,’ explained Oliver.

‘Well then, you never know, perhaps you’ll stumble across a big pile of gold!’ joked Elio.

‘Perhaps,’ he chuckled, ‘I wouldn’t bank on it though. Anyway, are you going to call your parents when the rain stops? Invite them to Paris to come and visit?’

‘Yeah,’ said Elio, ‘I’d like that a lot. And I think _papa_ would love the chance to visit some of the libraries and museums.’

‘I wonder if they’ll be angry at me?’ mused Oliver.

‘Angry? Why would they be?’ asked Elio, slightly bemused.

‘Well, I did sort of elope with their son, probably causing them quite a lot of worry!’ he said.

It had been one of things that had plagued his mind over the past couple of weeks, and given him plenty of sleepless hours in the early mornings, when Elio had been fast asleep at his side. The last thing he wanted to do was cause Annella and Pro any sort of worry or stress.

‘I told _papa_ he wasn’t to worry,’ said Elio, ‘And I’m sure any worry they had wouldn’t be directed at you. When we see them I can explain if there’s a problem. Which I’m sure there won’t be.’

Oliver nodded, not entirely sold on Elio’s optimism but willing to go along with it for the time being. He loved Annella and Pro, pprobably more than his own family, and he was worried that if he had hurt them in some way they would hold it against him forever. He hoped that what Elio was said was right, and they saw the events of the past month as much as evidence of their sons agency as they did of Oliver being a bad influence over him, or stealing him away.

He smiled across at Elio, and on a whim, leaned forward to kiss him softly on the mouth. He caught a few crumbs from the left over bread and cheese on his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to kiss his boy again and again and again.

**

‘ _Ciao Papa_ ’ he said into the receiver he was cradling between his cheek and his ear. The storm had finally blown itself overnight, so now – the following morning – it was safe to make phone calls once again. The storm had continued to rage throughout the night, and he’d made Oliver hold him tightly as a result. Yes he’d said he wasn’t afraid of storms, but that wasn’t _technically_ true. They were just so _wild_ , and he felt as if sometimes they might break down the walls he was hiding behind and burst on in.

‘Elio _,_ I’m glad to hear your voice _,_ ’ said his father, ‘I miss you.’

‘I miss you too _papa_ , _ma sono felice qui,_ ’ he said, with a smile.

‘I know, I know,’ said his father, ‘I know that you must be happy. I can hear it in your voice.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Elio, ‘Oliver is worried that he has made you and _mama_ hate him, because of what we did.’

‘No, not in any way,’ said his father quickly, ‘Please don’t let him think that.’

‘I did try and tell him,’ said Elio, ‘But I think he’s going to have to hear it from you and _mama_ … when you come to visit us in Paris. It’s gorgeous here.’

His father chuckled under his breath, ‘And we will… when we can. But I think you should come back home, just for a bit, before we come over there and visit you.’

Elio paused, unsure what to say in response to that, or where it had come from, ‘Why?’

‘Errr, well, it’s difficult to say over the phone, but I guess that it’s the only option available to us at the moment,’ his father said.

‘What is it?’ asked Elio, alert to the reluctance in his father’s voice, ‘Is _mama_ alright? What about Anchise, or Mafalda?’

‘ _Va bene, va bene_ ,’ he said quickly, ‘They’re all fine. It’s not that.’

‘Then what is it?’ asked Elio, a frown furrowing his brow.

‘Perhaps you would be better suited to this conversation with your mother…’ his father trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.

‘ _Papa!_ Just tell me; what is it?’ Elio was really nervous now, and he was glad that Oliver was out at the library with Jeanne, away from the flat, so he couldn’t hear his nervousness.

‘You know, in the summer,’ said his father, his voice edgy.

‘Yes?’ asked Elio, ‘What about it?’

‘You and Marzia,’ his father began, ‘Did you…’

He trailed off once again, so Elio filled the silence, ‘Did we… what? Were we together?’

‘Yes,’ said his father.

‘For a bit,’ said Elio, ‘Why?’

‘And did you, y’know?’ asked his father, for some reason being quite cagey around the issue. Elio assumed he was asking whether they’d slept together. He couldn’t imagine what else would be in place of that “y’know”. His father had never been overly forthcoming about the matter of love, sex, and relationships, choosing instead to talk in metaphors and extended stories. His mother had always been much more forthright. It was a bit strange for him to be talking about it now.

‘Why?’ asked Elio again.

There was another pause, where his father took a deep breath and blew it out again, ‘Marzia’s pregnant.’

Elio nearly dropped the phone.

It seemed like ten million emotions and thoughts hit him in the space of about ten seconds. Firstly, he felt like his heart might stop, then like it might shatter, then shock – to the point where he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Then he felt pain; what would Oliver would say? How would he feel? Pain cut through him like a knife at the thought of causing him any pain. Then he felt sick. He felt like he might choke on his lack of breath.

‘Elio, Elio, are you still there?’ asked his father, his voice sounding somewhat distant, ‘Can you hear me?’

‘Y-yes,’ he stuttered after a moment, as he tried to collect himself, ‘Yes I’m still here.’

‘I need you to answer my question Elio, because we need to know,’ said his father, ‘Is the baby yours?’

He was stunned at the question, ‘W-well, I guess it must be. I don’t think Marzia was with anyone else around the same time, and well… I was her first.’

There was a pause as his father considered this before -

‘ _Cazzo!_ ’ said his father, ‘Elio, did we teach you nothing?! You knew to use protection, even if it is the first time, even if you think you’re being careful!’

‘I know, I know,’ said Elio, tears welling up in the back of his throat, ‘I’m sorry Papa, it just happened. I thought if I, y’know, didn’t finish…’

His father groaned under his breath, ‘You know what they call people who use pulling out, or stopping, as a method of contraception Elio? Fucking parents, that’s what!’

He was so unused to hearing his father swear, and now having heard him twice in two sentences, he felt utterly shaken. He hated being shouted out by his parents. They hardly ever shouted. If they got agitated enough to raise their voices, then it was because something was _really_ _really_ wrong.

‘ _Mi dispiace papa’_ he said, his voice utterly forlorn, as he fought not to let tears fall, ‘Did Marzia tell you?’

‘Yes,’ said his father, his voice quieter now, ‘Because she doesn’t have a contact number for you, in order to tell you herself. She came around yesterday evening, and she told us after dinner. She’s only just found out, of course, it only happened what… five… weeks ago?’

Elio nodded, thinking back, and then realised his father couldn’t see that, ‘Yes, about five. Do her parents know?’

‘Yes,’ said his father, ‘Which is why you need to come home. You need to talk to Marzia, and to them. And to us.’

‘I know _papa_ ,’ said Elio miserably, ‘I will.’

There was a pause, ‘I’m not really angry Elio. Neither is your mother. We’re just sad that this could happen to you. We thought we’d taught you better. Accidents _do_ happen, but you do have to face up to them.’

‘Yes,’ he said, taking a steading breath, ‘I will. I’ll come and help Marzia. Speak to her. I do have a problem though… I don’t have enough money to get a flight home.’

‘That’s not a problem,’ said his father instantly, ‘And you know it.’

‘Thank you, papa,’ he mumbled, ‘I’m sorry for needing to ask.’

‘Don’t be… so if we book you a flight within the next few days, and then phone you on this number this evening to give you the details, can you make sure you’re on it?’

‘Yes _papa_ ,’ said Elio, ‘I’ll tell Oliver. Quite how I’ll tell him… I’m not sure.’

‘I think he deserves the truth Elio,’ said his father, ‘I wouldn’t try and keep it from him.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t even think about doing that.’

‘If he loves you as much as you both think you love each other, he’ll understand that it was an accident –‘

‘And it was before… him… anyway,’ said Elio.

‘He’ll support you,’ said his father, ‘As will we.’

‘Thank you, papa,’ said Elio, his voice still miserable, ‘See you in a few days.’

‘Alright,’ he said, ‘We love you Elio.’

‘T _i amo anche papa,’_ Elio mumbled, and with that he heard the soft click on the other end of the line that signalled his father hanging up. He put the phone down, and immediately his head fell into his hands on the telephone table where he had been sitting. His whole world had turned upside down in the space of about ten minutes. A life he’d never even thought about, a life that he wasn’t even sure that he ever wanted, was looming.

He was going to be a father. _Fuck_. He wasn’t even eighteen.


	12. Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver experiences life without Elio, and Elio is faced with something he hadn't considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Merry Christmas everyone; I hope you're having a lovely holiday season. Do enjoy this latest chapter. 
> 
> xxx

He was lonely already. Elio had only been gone for a day and he already missed him. It was moments like this when Oliver was unbelievably grateful for whatever it was that had swayed his hand, and his mind, that day on the station platform, when he’d asked Elio to run away with him.

He shuddered to imagine what his life would now be like if he had gone back to America; just one long stretch of missing Elio, and pretending to be completely alright with everything that his family would expect of him. It was strange, he missed the boy even when he was only going to be away from him for a handful of hours; he’d something funny or interesting in the street, or in one of the books he was reading for Jeanne, and he’d immediately want to tell Elio. If he wasn’t there, then he felt a pang of longing for his boy, and stored away whatever it was to tell him later on that particular day. Either that or he’d spend time on his walk home imagining the kiss he would give Elio that evening when he could, and the feel of his mouth under his. He didn’t think he would ever get bored of it.

He loved their evenings together, when Elio would tell him about all the odd customers he’d had in the bookstore that day, and then his eyes would light up as Oliver would explain the things he’d discovered that day in his research. Even if Elio didn’t know a lot about what Oliver was doing with Jeanne, his expression of interest was still utterly genuine. Often they’d sit with a glass of wine and talk about what had happened that day as the daylight faded outside. Oliver couldn’t care one iota that it wasn’t _exciting_ ; it was precisely where he wanted to be, with who he wanted to be with.

And now Elio had flown home, at the behest of his family, to be there and deal with whatever was going to happen with Marzia.

Yes, Elio had told him.

He hadn’t needed to coax it out of him at all; the minute he’d come in from his day at work, Elio had rushed across the loft from where he’d clearly been standing and/or pacing, and had blurted it out, his tongue tripping over the words in his haste to say them. Elio hadn’t put his arms around him, he’d stood there, nervously moving from foot to foot, as if he was scared that Oliver would storm out, or wouldn’t want to touch him, in a feeling close to revulsion.

It had taken him a moment or two to process what he’d said, and then he felt like he’d been hit over the back of the head with a frying pan. The first thing he’d done was to open up his arms and to hold Elio. Elio had begun to cry, probably tears of shock more than of sadness. He’d tried to hold it together, knowing that Elio would be looking to him for support and guidance at that particular moment in time, but equally his own world was spinning, and the foundations of his world had been rocked. He had no experience of this; none of the girls he’d fooled around with had had a pregnancy scare, or if they had, they had never told him about it.

He wasn’t mad at Elio. What had happened between him and Marzia was something completely normal between two teenagers discovering their sexuality in a hot sultry summer. As far as he knew it had ended when he and Elio had begun sleeping together, something that Elio confirmed as true. Accidents happen. It just so happened that some accidents had bigger consequences than others.

He’d said he’d needed to go home; that his father was booking a flight for him within a day or two. He’d immediately offered to go with him, to offer support, but Elio had said that it would probably be better if he went on his own. He’d be back before Oliver could even if miss him. Well that wasn’t true, obviously. He’d been gone only a few hours when the pang of his absence had begun to set in.

He wondered if this was it; if it was soon to be over, this heady dream which he had dragged out for longer than it’s allotted time. Were the gods demanding that his time come to an end and that he put it back in the box? That there was only a certain amount of happiness that he was allowed, and in stretching the dream out with Elio, he had taken it too far, and it was time for him to pay his penance? He tried to shake off the thought and to ignore the coldness that ran through his body when he contemplated it. No, this was a complication for sure; something that would test he and Elio, but it would not spell the end for them. They meant too much to each other for it to be that. He was sure of it.

In the meantime he was left here, with his books, on the trail of Duboir family, who had played a key part in protecting the Protestants as they went underground after the day of the massacre. They were proving as elusive to Oliver in his investigation of their movements as they had to be to the Catholics, who had been on their trail following the events of that summer. They were key to his and Jeanne’s investigation as the family were one of the major sources of income for the Protestant resistance in the years that followed. They had managed to protect much of the Protestant assets in those years, and had been key in ensuring the survival of the Huguenot movement.

He decided that a change of scene would do him good, as attempting to sit and research in the apartment was only making him miss Elio even more, as the emptiness was utterly obvious. He thought that he would head to Alexandre’s bar and find a table in there for the afternoon. At this time it was unlikely to be very busy, and he could probably use the soft hum of chatter as a distraction from the shouting in his head.

What if Elio didn’t want to come back? What if in going back to Italy it reminded him of everything that he missed, and would continue to miss if he stayed with Oliver?

This was why he needed to go to Alexandre’s; rather than sit up here. He needed to get out of his own head. He shoved his books and his papers in his messenger bag and stood up, leaving the flat and locking it behind him.

He headed downstairs through the bookshop, to check in on Mme. Bernard. She’d been very gracious when Elio had said he’d needed to disappear for a family emergency. Had said that it was no worry at all and that she would cover the shop. She said that the past few weeks with him helping out had felt like a holiday, so she was more than happy to takeover again for a bit.

‘ _Bonjour Monsieur Oliver_ ,’ she said as he stepped into the main room.

‘ _Bonjour Madame_ ,’ he said, and then deferred back into English, ‘I’m just going to the bar for a change of scenery in which to do some research.’

‘ _D’accord_ ,’ she said with a smile, ‘Whilst Monsieur Elio is not here, would you like to have dinner with me tonight? It would be nice to have the company.’

He smiled and paused only for a moment before replying, ‘Yes, that would be nice. It would be a bit lonely in the flat without him.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know the feeling.’

He nodded and half shrugged in sympathy, stepping out of the way as a customer moved past him in the doorway, ‘What time?’

‘About seven?’ Madame Bernard suggested, ‘I can cook carbonara if you’d like?’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ he said with a genuine smile, ‘Thank you Madame.’

And with that he turned and left her to the customers in the shop. It was overcast but dry today, and the air had taken on a sultry quality that the last vestiges of heat often did. He was glad that Madame Bernard had offered to have dinner with him tonight; he had been half dreading the loneliness that came with eating alone. He was certainly dreading the loneliness of his empty bed tonight.

**

He felt out of place here now. He wasn’t the same person he had been when he had lived here before, and it was a little odd to see the shadows of the old version of himself everywhere he looked; stealing food from the kitchen from under Mafalda’s nose, or sitting at the piano composing a new piece. This place had thousands of memories of a pre-Oliver version of himself, whereas now he only really recognised himself as he was now; an Elio with his Oliver. He couldn’t really imagine what it would be like to be any other way.

He was sitting in his father’s study; the walls lined with books and papers that his father had accumulated over the years. There was so many of them that they were spilling over one and other, an organised chaos of knowledge that any classics student would be in ecstasy to get their hands on. He was sitting cross-legged on one of the sofas, looking about. He remembered a time in here, just a handful of months ago, when his father had cross-examined Oliver on the etymology of the word ‘apricot’, and Oliver had felt no qualms about pushing back against his father’s interpretation.

That was one of those moments when Oliver’s eyes had slid across the room and met Elio’s; he’d smirked, the corner of his mouth curling upwards in amusement. He’d felt it then, that shudder of electricity that seemed to accompany their early interactions. He’d hadn’t been sure whether it was the unpleasantness of a shock, or a flash of desire flooding through his body. It had taken him some weeks to figure that one out. Oliver had smiled in return, and something had sparkled in those incredible blue eyes. Elio had felt a weird surge in his stomach, something he totally wasn’t used to; it felt like a hook pulling him forward and a surge of joy all at the same time.

‘He does this every year,’ he said with a shrug, by way of explanation of his father’s behaviour.

And now he was here again, in the gathering dark, waiting for Marzia. The last time they’d seen each other had been a moment of sadness; she’d stood amongst the trees, looking altogether very pretty, and she’d asked _am I your girl?_ He’d deferred, not answering, and instead shrugging with intense discomfort. He’d just come from the attic, where he’d fallen asleep after a particularly intense fuck with Oliver. At the time the other man had still been up there. He’d only emerged to let his parents know that they would both be attending dinner, and that was when Marzia had managed to catch him. At the time he hadn’t had the capacity to feel bad about the way he’d behaved; his body was too full of utter joy and delight at what Oliver was making him feel, and the new experiences that were tumbling through his form each and every day.

Now that he thought back on it, it made him squirm with discomfort. He had behaved like an asshole; to someone who was one of his oldest friends. He had effectively picked her up when it suited him – he knew that she liked him – and then as soon as the person he’d really wanted had come along, he’d dropped her. Like a child who’d been more entranced by the shiny new toy, and the old faithful one was left on the floor. He hoped that he would be able to say sorry for that, although he doubted that his behaviour that day was at the forefront of her mind right now.

Would she look any different? He wondered to himself. Surely not? It had only been just over a month, or six weeks, since… well since she would have fallen pregnant. Surely her body would look exactly the same? He didn’t really know how he was going to talk to her, and hoped that she would have more to say to him. He felt completely and utterly out of his depth, and not for the first time he found himself wishing Oliver was there. He knew he’d done the right thing in leaving Oliver in Paris; this was something that he needed to tackle alone, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t long for the steadying presence of the other man… his _boyfriend_. Even though they had discussed using that word, and decided that it was easiest for them to explain when talking about their relationship with other people, in his mind it was still wholly inadequate for what he and Oliver shared. It sounded so basic, so teenage. Still, Oliver was right, it was the easiest word to describe it to other people. He had been more in favour of the word _partner_ , but that word didn’t gender Oliver, so everyone immediately assumed he was a woman. Elio had mentally rolled his eyes at that; this was the 1980s for godsake, surely people were a bit more open minded than that? At least the word boyfriend immediately let people know exactly who he was, and made crystal clear that he was immensely comfortable in talking about it.

He was brought out of his reverie of thinking about Oliver when the study door opened with a gentle click, and Marzia poked her head around the door, checking to see if he was there.

‘ _Your mama said I’d find you in here,’_ she said almost apologetically in French.

He immediately got to his feet, took the three steps across the room, and enveloped her in a full-body hug, holding her tight, and allowing her arms to come around him as well. They were both so young, and yet here they were; having to discuss something that neither of them had ever expected.

‘ _I’m sorry_ ,’ he murmured into her hair, softly perfumed with the scent of her shampoo – mint he thought.

She didn’t respond but just shook her head so that he would feel it as they held each other. She stepped back a moment later and looked at him, a semi-apologetic look on her face. His earlier question had been answered; she didn’t look any different, except perhaps her hair was a little bit thicker looking, and perhaps her boobs looked a little bit bigger. He’d never stared at them too much before, so he couldn’t really judge, but the sweater she was wearing did seem to be a little bit tight across the front.

‘ _So-_ ’ he started to say, putting his hands in his back pockets of his jeans, half a shrug visible in the stance of his body.

She shook her head again, cutting him off from anything from he might have been about to say. He sighed with relief internally; he was glad that she was going to lead this conversation, because in reality he had absolutely no idea what to say to her.

 _‘Don’t_ ,’ she said, ‘ _I know what I want, but I thought I needed to discuss it with you first_.’

‘ _Okay_ ,’ he said, a little nervously, wondering what conclusion she had come to.

She shrugged, opening her palms towards him, almost like a gesture of surrender, ‘ _I don’t want to have it. I’m not ready to be a parent, Elio. And I don’t think you are either. I want to terminate._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably not what people were expecting with this one, right? 
> 
> The response to the last chapter was amazing, and I hope you'll stick with me on this one. If your views don't align with it, perhaps read on and see the reasoning and choice behind it. Either way, I hope that this story continues to hold your interest and make you think about all sorts of possibility. Come yell at me in the comments if you really must. Abusive comments will be deleted without response. 
> 
> Besitos! 
> 
> V  
> xxx


	13. We Are Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oliver makes a discovery, and Elio makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: 'We Are Young' by fun feat. Janelle Monae. 
> 
> I hope you all had a lovely holiday season and that your 2019 is going to be incredible. <3 
> 
> xxx

Oliver set up a table for himself in Alexandre’s bar, ordering himself a couple of beers to study alongside, and spread his books out over the table. He passed a contended hour or two like this, glad of the change of scene from the apartment table where he been before, and the buzz of the noise that this provided. Patrons came and went for a late afternoon lunch, with Martine serving them at the bar. Alexandre was nowhere to be seen today, and Oliver assumed that it must be his day off. He’d never seen him not behind the bar, but he figured there must be sometime when he wasn’t there.

He was deep in his books, and his third beer, when he heard a familiar voice that made him frown a little. He looked up, and was surprised to find Professor Carpenter, his distinctive British voice carrying across the bar, cutting across the general hum. He was deep in conversation with Vincent, the poker player, at his usual table near the back of the room.

He figured it was only a moment until he was seen, and it would look a little odd if he was caught staring and hadn’t gone to say hello; this was the man who paid his wages after all. He got to his feet, and found he was a tiny bit lightheaded from the amount of beer and no food. He could do with whatever Madame Bernard was going to cook up for him later, but that wouldn’t be for a few hours yet. He walked over, leaving his papers and his books, without fear that anyone would do anything to them, and made himself known to the pair.

As he drew close, however, he hesitated for a moment, as they appeared to be having quite a heated discussion, their voices fast and slightly raised. Unfortunately it was in French, so other than a word or two, ‘time’ being one of them, he couldn’t quite catch the gist of what they were saying.

‘Ah, Monsieur Oliver!’

It was Vincent who called his name, spotting him over the Professor’s shoulder. The Professor turned around, and for a moment Oliver noticed the annoyed look that seemed to grace his normally jovial features, before it reverted back to the expression he was used to seeing at the end of the week when he and Jeanne presented their report.

‘ _Bonjour_ ,’ he said in response to Vincent before nodding to the Professor, ‘I’ve not seen you in here before Professor?’

The Professor shrugged with a smile, ‘Oh, Vincent and I go way back; we used to play poker together.’

‘Not anymore?’ asked Oliver, unable to help but notice the undercurrent to this conversation.

‘I was just trying to convince the Professor to join me for a game; tomorrow. Perhaps you would like to join as well?’ asked Vincent.

‘Erm,’ said Oliver, caught slightly off his guard, ‘Yes, okay. My partner is away at the moment so I can’t see why not.’ There was nothing else that he would be doing tomorrow night.

‘Oh, when will Monsieur Elio be back?’ asked Vincent, and Oliver couldn’t help but instantly cringe inwardly. He’d never told the Professor about his personal life, and to have it done so forcefully in that moment felt like a smack to the face.

Oliver tried to continue as if nothing was amiss, ‘He’s returned home to Italy for a week or two, so hopefully as soon as possible. He’s got a couple of things to deal with back at home, but will return once that is sorted.’

He avoided looking at the Professor. The man probably wasn’t a homophobe, but Oliver had withheld the information in any case, just because he didn’t believe in mixing his personal life with his work, and he didn’t want any latent opinions to effect what he did.

‘What are you doing here, anyway, Oliver?’ asked the Professor, not letting on that he was in the slightest bit concerned by this revelation.

‘Working,’ said Oliver with a shrug, ‘I live across the way at Mme. Bernard’s bookshop, but I needed a change of scene.’

‘How are you getting on?’ asked the Professor, his eyes sliding towards Vincent for a moment, but not quick enough that Oliver didn’t see it.

‘Good,’ said Oliver, ‘Although the family that Jeanne tasked me with recently are proving to be highly elusive.’

‘So, I heard,’ said the Professor, ‘A shame that they are so crucial to our investigations.’

‘It’s alright,’ said Oliver with a shrug, ‘I’ll get there soon; I feel like I’m getting close to something with the new letters of the DuBois family that we uncovered in the archives last week. I’ve nearly finished translating them.’

‘Oh, that’s great!’ said the Professor, genuine excitement lighting up his face, ‘Can I have copies of the letters when you’ve finished?’

‘Sure!’ he said, ‘I can bring them to the library on Monday when I meet up with Jeanne again?’

‘That would be great,’ said the Professor, and then looked back at Vincent, ‘Now, I just have a few things to sort out with Vincent, and then I need to go…’

Oliver understood this to be a dismissal, but he wasn’t offended in the slightest, ‘Yes, of course, sorry, I interrupted.’

‘Not at all _Monsieur_ ,’ said Vincent, his voice taking on a somewhat oily undertone that Oliver distinctly didn’t like, ‘Tomorrow, nine o clock, for poker?’

He nodded in agreement, but he couldn’t help but let a small frown cross his face, before he turned away and back to his books. The two men didn’t speak until they were sure he was out of earshot and had sat back down at his table.

Oliver took a gulp of his now slightly warm beer, and pulled his books back towards him, not reading any of the words in front of him.

He’d never seen the Professor in here before, and it was clear that whatever relationship was shared between the Professor and Vincent went further than the odd game of poker. He wondered whether it should be something that he needed to be concerned about it? Was it something that was would affect his work? Or worse, was it something that would eventually come to affect him and Elio?

There was nothing for him to base these worries upon of course, other than the feeling he’d had. That feeling when the Professor’s eyes had slid across to Vincent’s for just that moment when they were talking, or the undertone to Vincent’s voice at the end. Nothing had been said to make him concerned, and the Professor seemed genuinely interested to see the translations of the DuBois letters that he was working his way through.

He tried to push the thought away and get back to his books. He now had a poker game tomorrow night with the pair, and hopefully at least one more, to not look forward to. But before that, he had dinner with Madame Bernard, which he figured would be much more pleasant.

*

‘That was amazing _Madame_ , thank you,’ said Oliver, having just finished off the last of the delicious carbonara that she had cooked for the pair of them.

‘No worries, Oliver,’ said Mme. Bernard in her heavily accented English, ‘It’s just nice to cook for more than one from time to time.’

‘Tell me about it,’ said Oliver with a grin, ‘I’ve had to get used to it again. I lived alone before I met Elio, and it’s a bit of a change to get used to. Having someone else there all the time, takes some getting used to.’

‘Yes,’ said Mme. Bernard, ‘Are you liking the flat though?’

‘So, so much,’ said Oliver, ‘I can’t thank you enough for that. It really was a blessing for both of us. I don’t know what we would have done otherwise.’

Madame Bernard smiled; easy and relaxed. Oliver stood up to start gathering away the plates and moving to the sink to wash them up.

‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said over her shoulder.

‘You cooked,’ said Oliver, ‘I’ll clean up.’

He began washing the plates and pans which she had used to cook the delicious meal.

‘When do you think _Monsieur_ Elio will be back?’ asked Mme. Bernard from behind him.

‘Hopefully soon,’ said Oliver with a grin that she couldn’t see, ‘He’s going to ring me later tonight, so he might give me an update then.’

He knew that Elio was probably meeting with Marzia right about now, and he was nervous as to what would come out of that conversation. Of course, he cared about Marzia, but he was more concerned about his boy, and he would handle whatever was about to come his way. And he would be lying if he didn’t feel the tiniest smidgen of jealousy regarding the situation. Marzia could be poised to give Elio the one thing that he would never get if he stayed with Oliver; a family of his own. He knew he was being slightly ridiculous worrying about it; if that was Elio’s priority then there was nothing he could do about anyway, and it would come to the fore sooner or later. Better that it was sooner right?

The phone rang just as he was drying up, and Madame Bernard excused herself to go and answer it. Oliver finished drying up, and then in true academic style, he found himself draw to the bookshelves in the corner that were groaning with different shaped tomes and papers.

He glanced out of the kitchen door to where Madame Bernard had disappeared, but it seemed as if she was caught up in conversation. He hoped that she wouldn’t mind if took at some of the spines of the books. His curiosity just got the better of him. There were some classics as to be expected, and plenty of titles in French that he didn’t understand. His fingers slipped along the spines, tracing the words as he went, stopping when he found something of interest.

He nearly missed it, hidden between two much larger volumes, but his mind caught up a moment later and he slid back along. It was a small book, plain black leather binding the cover, and a word stamped on the spine, embossed in silver.

_DuBois._

A shiver of excitement ran through his body. It could be pure coincidence of course, but this was the name he’d been on the trail of for some time in his research, the ones that thus far had proved to be so elusive.

He picked it off the shelf, and flipped it open. He could instantly see that it was written in French, but he couldn’t make any sense of it whatsoever. Some of the words made sense, but they had odd endings, and the grammar was all over the place. It was far too complex for his rudimentary grasp of the language, and he wondered if Elio would be any better at understanding it. There were dates at the top of the pages, but again, they were written in a code. He had better luck understanding these, as they were taken from the Attic calendar of dates, used in Ancient Athens. He quickly realised that if he added the two Greek dates together, then he got the month and the year of the actual diary entry. Whoever had written this knew what they were doing when it came to languages and history.

‘Find anything you like?’

He turned around quickly, not having noticed that Mme. Bernard had finished on the phone.

‘Yes,’ he said with no preamble, ‘I recognised this name from my research, and it caught my interest.’

‘Which is it?’ said Mme. Bernard coming over and looking over his shoulder. He closed the book and showed her the spine.

‘Oh, yeah,’ she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice, ‘That was my father’s name.’

**

‘She wants to have a termination,’ said Elio. It was later, it was nearly dark outside, and he was sitting in the living room with his parents, and their new dog, Aristotle, lying on the rug. He had vaguely wondered if they’d got the dog in order to replace him, to give them something to hug and shower their affection on. Either way, it was a cute dog.

Silence greeted his statement for a moment, and he saw his mother look across at his father, wondering how to approach it.

‘And what do you think about that?’ asked his Papa, taking his glasses off to clean on the bottom of his jumper. His mother always told him to use a proper cloth, but he never remembered.  

Elio paused for a moment. It had been about an hour since Marzia had left, and he hadn’t thought of anything else since.

‘I think it’s the right decision,’ he said eventually, ‘Deep down I know it is. But there are a million other things that went through my head at the same time. But my first thought, first and foremost, was that it was the right decision. Before all the other thoughts started creeping in.’

‘Which were?’ asked his mother gently.

‘Well it’s obviously the right decision for Marzia. She’s young, and even if I came back full time, I couldn’t be with her. I love Oliver _mama_. I couldn’t just abandon that.’

‘Nobody would ask you to,’ his mother murmured, as he continued.

‘She wants to go to the Sorbonne come the summer, she wants to experience the Paris art scene, develop her craft, grow her skills. She couldn’t do that with a baby in tow…’ said Elio, ‘She shouldn’t be condemned to spend her youth in Crema because of a mistake that happened one foolish night.’

‘But...?’ asked his father, sensing that there was one.

‘But I do wonder if this would be my only chance to ever be a father…’ said Elio, ‘I know that’s so selfish, because it’s not just me who would be impacted by that, and I’m being swayed by some odd notion of what being a father would be like.’

‘It was one of the most amazing things I ever experienced,’ said his father with a grin, ‘But it’s been hard work. The hardest job I have ever undertaken, and we did it together. To do it without that support must be hard beyond imagining. There is nothing romantic about it. It is a full-time job, and I think Marzia understands that. Which is why she thinks she isn’t ready to undertake it yet.’

‘Yes,’ said Elio, ‘She said that. She said she didn’t think she could raise a child into the life they deserved when she hadn’t lived her own life yet.’

‘Plenty of people do do it though at a very young age,’ said his mother, ‘And do it extremely well.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Elio, ‘But if Marzia has already decided she doesn’t want it; and I have no idea what the reality of it would entail, then that would be a bad place to bring a child into. Right? She would resent it for taking away her opportunities, and I wouldn’t even know where to start.’

‘And then of course there is your future to think of,’ said his father.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Elio, looking across at him.

‘Are you going to go to University, do you think?’ he asked, ‘There’s that to think of as well; if you would want to leave for long periods of time.’

Elio was taken aback by the question, ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it recently.’

‘Samuel don’t blindside him,’ said his mother gently, ‘That’s not what we’re discussing.’

‘I know, I know, sorry,’ said his father, ‘So, do you agree with Marzia?’

‘I think I do,’ said Elio, nodding, ‘It’s not my body, it’s not my choice to make, but if she asks for my support, then she will have it. It wouldn’t be my place to try and persuade her not to. It’s her decision.’

Silence met this statement, other than the dog scratching at his ear on the rug.

‘I think it’s the right decision too, baby,’ said his mother, ‘I think you’re doing the right thing. You and Marzia.’

‘Thank you, mama,’ he said, unable to help a few tears from welling in his eyes, ‘That means a lot.’

He got up off his seat and moved over to her on the sofa, curling himself up into her side and allowing her to hold him close. He breathed in her family scent, and couldn’t help but let some more tears spill out down his cheeks.

‘There will be other chances, you know that,’ she said softly, ‘Even if you stay with Oliver for the rest of your days. The world is at your feet, my love. There’s nothing that isn’t possible. This wasn’t meant to be your time; either of yours. I think you’re both being very adult and grown up about this. I know it isn’t easy.’

His father got up and came to sit next to him as well, hugging around both of them.

‘And if you’re worried about family; you’ve got us. And you’ve got some of the greatest friends you could ask for. You’re building a new life for yourself, and it’s going to be great.’

‘I love you guys so much,’ said Elio, crying freely now. He was exhausted, the amount of things he’d had to think about and process in the past few days had drained the energy out of him. He was so glad for the unwavering support of his parents, and he hugged them a little closer, just to let them know that he meant it.


	14. Poker Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cards, Cigarette Smoke... and too much whisky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support of this story - hopefully it's starting to get super intriguing now. No Elio's POV in this chapter, although of course we do hear from him. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> V  
> xxx

‘We went to the doctors today,’ Elio’s voice came down the phone line, ‘And she’s got an appointment early next week to get the things she needs. Because it’s so early she can do it at home, rather than in the hospital, if she prefers.’

‘And she’s going to do that?’ asked Oliver, cradling the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he listened to what had happened. He was standing by the window, looking out on the Parisian street below. Elio hadn’t called last night, but had first thing this morning, apologising that he had been too late the night before.

‘Yeah,’ said Elio, ‘I think it’s better for her to do it like that, to be somewhere that’s comfortable for her.’

‘Why does she have to wait until next week to get the stuff?’ he asked, ‘Surely the doctor could have helped her sooner?’

‘It’s called a “cooling off period”,’ said Elio, ‘It’s to give her a chance to change her mind, or rather because really they’d like her to. I think it’s pretty gross to be honest; it’s a hard enough to decision to make anyway, to make her wait is just prolonging the distress. It’s almost as if they’re challenging a woman’s ability to make the decision herself, as if she won’t have agonised over it since she found out. Anyway, I doubt that’s going to change any time soon, especially here.’

‘I think we have something similar in the US,’ said Oliver, ‘But when you put it like that; it does seem punitive for the sake of it. Are you going to stay until then?’

‘Yeah,’ said Elio, ‘I’ll go with her to the hospital on Tuesday, for support, and then I think I’ll come back, if everything goes okay. The doctor was pretty communicative about how sick she’d feel afterwards, so I think the best thing then will be for her to be with her family. I’ll ask to make sure, but I should be coming back in the middle of next week.’

Oliver couldn’t help but let a grin break out on his face instantly, ‘That’s good. I miss you.’

‘I miss you too,’ said Elio, ‘What are you doing today?’

Oliver filled him on the research breakthrough he’d made the night before in discovering the DuBois book, and the fact that he couldn’t actually understood what it said. Madame Bernard had never had the code explained to her by her father, so there was little that she could enlighten him on.

‘Are you going to show Jeanne?’ asked Elio.

‘Not right away,’ said Oliver, ‘I don’t know, I kind of want to keep it to myself for the moment.’

‘Why?’ asked Elio, his voice confused.

Oliver told him about the encounter with the Professor and Vincent that he’d had at Alexandre’s bar yesterday, and the feeling of uneasiness it had given him. It had made him reluctant to share his discovery with Jeanne immediately.

‘Do you think the Professor is involved in something… else?’ asked Elio, clearly hesitating to say the word _illegal_ if it wasn’t warranted.

‘I don’t know,’ said Oliver truthfully, ‘There was just something that didn’t feel right.’

‘I think you’re right to hesitate then,’ said Elio, and Oliver could hear the frown in his voice, ‘Just keep it to yourself if that’s what your instinct is telling you.’

‘They’ve invited me for a poker game tonight,’ said Oliver.

‘Who? The Professor?’ said Elio.

‘And Vincent, and a fourth,’ said Oliver, not wanting to withhold information from Elio.

‘What? Why?’ Elio asked.

‘Well after I met them yesterday, they said that’s how they knew each other; by playing poker. Vincent obviously knew that I played, having played with him before, so they invited me for a game tonight,’ said Oliver.

Elio didn’t immediately respond.

‘Elio?’ asked Oliver, after another moment of silence.

‘I don’t like it,’ said Elio in response, ‘Are you going to go?’

‘I feel like I kind of have to,’ said Oliver, ‘I mean, the Professor does pay me… and I have no real reason to say no… especially after they only saw me yesterday.’

‘Hmmmm,’ said Elio, ‘It goes without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway; please, please, please be careful. It feels weird, and I’m not even there.’

‘I know,’ said Oliver, ‘I know.’

‘Will you call me when you get back?’ asked Elio, ‘I know it’ll be late, but I need to hear that you’re alright.’

‘I’m sure I will be -’

‘Oliver, please,’ said Elio, ‘I’m not there, so I need to know everything is ok.’

‘Alright,’ said Oliver, ‘Yes, I’ll ring. You might want to let your parents know, so that the phone ringing doesn’t scare them half to death.’

‘I will,’ said Elio, then there was a brief pause as he spoke in Italian to someone, Oliver assumed his mother.

‘I’ve got to go, _mama_ wants to use the phone,’ said Elio, ‘But I’ll hear from you later, yes?’

‘Yes,’ said Oliver, ‘I’ll ring later. I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ said Elio, and then there was a click and he was gone.

Oliver immediately felt a flash of loss as the line went dead. He wanted to keep his boy on the line and talk to him all day. That would cost a fortune anyway, so Oliver pushed the thought away and put the phone back on its cradle, holding the cord in order to not shut it in the desk drawer.

For the rest of the day he found himself immersed in the book that Madame Bernard had given him; he copied out passages onto scraps of paper and spent time trying to figure out how the code worked. He managed to translate a few words and collections of words, but he couldn’t find the pattern how they linked together. He definitely needed Elio to help him. The boy would be back with him in a handful of days’ time, and then a few weeks after that it was Elio’s birthday. He smiled as he thought about that; they’d have to do something special for it. Unlike in America, eighteen was the beginning of adulthood here, so Oliver thought it would be only right to celebrate in style. They were in a city dedicated to love, and he knew without a doubt that he loved his boy. He would find some way to show him exactly how much.

He fed himself that night, before deciding he would head over to Alexandre’s bar half-an-hour early. He could use a drink anyway, to settle the nerves in his gut about the card game to come. It was just a card game; surely nothing bad could happen?

He headed out the balcony door and down the steps to the garden, before slowly heading up the street and across to the bar. There were still plenty of people about as it was warm September night, and the bar was busy when he ducked inside.

He wandered up to the bar and ordered himself a drink; whisky on the rocks. He was just taking it from Martine, who was serving tonight, when a familiar face sidled up to his elbow. A wave of feminine perfume washed over him as he turned towards them.

‘ _Monsieur Oliver, salut!_ ’ said Étoile, ‘Where is monsieur Elio?’

‘He’s in Italy at the moment,’ said Oliver, ‘With family.’

‘Awww that’s a shame,’ said Étoile, with a small smile playing on her face, ‘I wanted to dance with him again.’

Oliver smirked down at her, ‘Did you now?’

‘Yes it was good fun,’ she said, ‘I think you liked it to?’

‘How did you know that?’ he said, his eyes lighting up very slightly.

Étoile shrugged with a chuckle, ‘Why are you here on your own?’

‘I’m playing poker tonight,’ said Oliver, ‘With Vincent, but not until later.’

Étoile frowned slightly, ‘Do you know who else you are playing with?’

‘A Professor, from England, who’s paying for my research at the moment, and I don’t know who the fourth is to be. Vincent said that he would find someone.’

Étoile’s frown deepened, ‘I think I know who the fourth is going to be. He sometimes plays with Vincent.’

‘And?’ asked Oliver, ‘Is there a problem?’

‘I think you will be playing with my employer,’ said Étoile, the frown not alleviating itself from her face, ‘I think your fourth will be Monsieur Rousseau.’

‘Your employer?’ asked Oliver, ‘You mean, the man who -’

‘Yes,’ said Étoile, ‘But that is not all he does, of course.’

‘I surmised as much,’ said Oliver, ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’

Étoile paused, ‘Not really _monsieur_. Just be careful, alright? These are not good men who you are playing with tonight. I do not know how your professor became caught up with them, but for Vincent and Rousseau I can speak and say that I would be very cautious of them.’

Oliver nodded, and took a gulp of his whisky, finding it was doing absolutely nothing to sate his nerves now, ‘That seems to be the general advice that I’m getting from most people right now.’

‘Most people are right,’ said Étoile, looking around.

‘Are you alright?’ asked Oliver, paying attention to her generally nervous disposition.

‘No,’ said Étoile, ‘I wouldn’t have come here if I knew Rousseau was going to be here tonight. I don’t want to run into him if I don’t have to.’

‘Are you afraid of him?’ asked Oliver, looking down at her.

‘Yes,’ said Étoile, ‘Because I have good reason to be. I just want to ensure that you don’t have reason to fear him as well.’

‘You’re scaring me a bit now Étoile,’ said Oliver, trying to smirk to alleviate some of the nervousness inside, ‘It’s just a game of cards.’

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Étoile, ‘It’ll be just fine. It’s just a game of cards. I’m going to go; I’d rather not be here when Monsieur Rousseau is about. I’ll go see if I can find Saphr and leave with her. She has even less reason to like him then I do.’

‘Alright,’ said Oliver, ‘But before you go; will you have coffee with me tomorrow? There’s a few things I’d like to talk with you about.’

Étoile looked up at him, trying to decide what it was about, before her characteristic smirk was back on her lips, ‘Yes, alright, what time?’

‘Erm, meet me at eleven at the bookstore?’ asked Oliver. Étoile nodded in response, before glancing around once again and disappearing into the crowd.

Now he almost wished he hadn’t arrived early. His conversation with Étoile had done nothing to sate his nerves, and he found himself trying to think up excuses as to why he wouldn’t be able to stay. Before he managed to come up with an adequate enough excuse, however, a hand had clapped down on his shoulder, and he turned to see the Professor, his usual jovial smile on his face.

‘ _Bonsiour_ Oliver,’ said the Professor, ‘Are you alright this evening?’

‘Yes, I’m good,’ said Oliver, trying not to betray what he really felt, ‘Are the others here yet?’

‘If they are, they’ll be at the back where Vincent normally sits,’ said Professor, ‘Do you want to go see?’

‘Sure,’ said Oliver, downing the rest of his whisky, and following the Professor to the back of the bar. Sure enough, as they headed through the crowd and it thinned out, Victor was sat at his usual table, with another man, their heads close together. The man Oliver didn’t know had long brown hair that came down in waves over his shoulders, and he was wearing some kind of fedora, which he thought slightly odd, given that they were indoors.

‘Ah, _Monsieur_ Carpenter!’ said Vincent, standing up and moving around the table when he noticed them, ‘And _Monsieur_ Oliver; welcome. I hope you are having a nice evening. Please let me introduce our fourth; _Monsieur_ Marc Rousseau.’

So it was as Étoile had suspected. As Oliver put his hand to shake the newcomer’s, he wondered whether his name was actually Rousseau, or whether the coincidence of him being named the same as one of France’s great philosophers was just too great a weight to bear. He fell down on the side of assuming that it was an alias.

‘Good evening,’ said the man, as he let go of his hand. Oliver took an instant dislike to the man, not just because of what Étoile had said, but his voice had an oiliness to it that he didn’t like.

Oliver didn’t reply, but just nodded, before taking the seat which the other man pointed to for him, at the back of the table. The cards were already lying on the table, and Oliver was half tempted to check the pack, but thought that that would convey his distrust, and he felt like that that would be better to keep to himself.

‘Before we start, drinks, yes?’ asked Vincent.

‘Sure,’ said Oliver with a shrug, looking across at the Professor who was also nodding, the smile still on his face. Oliver thought it might be looking a little fake now, as it hadn’t shifted at all since he had first met him at the bar, at least fifteen minutes ago. Or maybe that was just the normal look that he had on his face.

Vincent waved over at the bar, clearly catching someone’s eye before he turned back to the table.

‘100 franc buy in for the chips,’ said Vincent.

This is how much it had been last time, so Oliver had been expecting this and had brought the amount with him. Vincent cut him chips from the main pile, and pushed them over to him. Oliver counted them into piles and then left them, as the drinks were delivered from the bar, and he was handed his usual whisky.

They began to play. Oliver had always considered himself fairly good at poker, and he worked on trying to understand the body language of the other men sat around him, whilst remembering the cards that had come before throughout the pack. He won two out of the first four hands, and had scraped the resulting chips towards him. Vincent had won one, Monsieur Rousseau had won one, and the Professor, so far was empty handed. He didn’t seem to mind overly much though. Vincent was topping up their drinks from the bar as they were depleted, but Oliver was being quite slow about drinking his, wanting to keep his head straight so that he could concentrate on the cards.

It was only as he was starting on his third whisky that he started to feel a little strange. He decided it was probably down to the lack of water he’d had all day, so he asked for a water to go with his whisky, and continued to play. But the feeling wasn’t going away; his hearing felt fuzzy, and his vision was starting to blur at the edges. Three whiskies _never_ did this to him.

‘Are you alright _Monsieur?_ ’ asked Vincent, looking at him from across the table. He tried to focus on the other man’s face, but it swam before him slightly, as if looking at him through water.

‘Yeah,’ said Oliver, ‘I’m fine. Just feel a bit lightheaded is all.’

That was the understatement of the century. His tongue felt like cotton in his mouth, whilst also feeling like it weighed 100lbs.

‘Just give me a minute, okay?’ said Oliver, trying to stand up out of the seat at the back of the table, ‘I’m just going to go and get some fresh air.’

But a hand on his arm pulled him back into his seat, and he was powerless to knock it off and fight against it. He couldn’t decide whose hand was on his arm. Either way it felt like a lead weight, dragging him into the fabric of the seat he was sitting on.

‘ _Monsieur?_ ’

The last thing he saw as his vision clouded over completely and the buzzing filled his ears, was Vincent leaning close to him, his eyes wide in apparent shock. Although to Oliver, in that moment, he thought he looked more like a spider who had a juicy fly caught in his web. And then his head hit the table, and his world went dark.


	15. Delicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A friend in need...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my lovely readers on this story! I haven't abandoned it, I promise! I know exactly where it's going, and have probably got about another seven or so chapters to go on this. Might be a couple more than that; my writing tends to expand past the chapter points I have in my head! 
> 
> I know it's been taking a bit longer to get this one updated, but I hope you're still excited to find out WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!? :P
> 
> Love
> 
> V
> 
> Chapter Title: 'Delicate' by Taylor Swift

‘ _Monsieur Oliver?’_

There was a small voice in his ear, interrupting the incredibly vivid dreams he had been having. It took him a moment to pull himself towards the sound; as his dreams, and the web of sleep he found himself caught in, seemed to be very difficult to escape. The images kept trying to pull him back in; some of them horrifying, some of them mystifying, and all of them very very weird.

‘ _Monsieur Oliver! Wake up!_ ’

He groaned slightly, as he was now aware of someone physically shaking him, as well as repeating his name over and over again. His eyelids felt like they were lead weights as he peeled them back to open his eyes. His vision was blurry for a moment as he tried to come to his senses.

‘Étoile?’ he asked groggily, as the person who had been shaking him came into focus, their worried face peering down at him.

‘What happened?’ she asked instantly, in her heavy French accent.

He didn’t immediately respond, instead trying to take stock of where he was. He was in Alexandre’s bar, but in a booth in a far corner. He couldn’t remember coming over here; the last thing he remembered was starting a poker game with Vincent and the Professor, and that other man. What had been his name? His mouth felt dry, and he rubbed his hand over his face, trying to piece together what on earth was going on. The bar was empty, so it was either very late, or very early. He wondered why he hadn’t been turfed out by Alexandre or Martine. He felt like he wanted to throw up.

‘Oliver?’ asked Étoile again, her face very close to his, her eyes looking into his, going from pupil to pupil. It made him a little dizzy to be honest.

‘Are you alright, do you need _un médecin_?’ she asked, her face a picture of worry.

‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘No, I don’t think so. What time is it?’

‘Very early,’ said Étoile, ‘Nearly 4am.’

Oliver struggled to take this information in, ‘Why am I here? Why am I not at home?’

Étoile didn’t answer him immediately, instead looking around, as if someone might be listening in the empty bar.

‘Can you stand?’ she asked him.

He didn’t know, but he supposed he was going to have to try. He couldn’t sit here forever, and the bar was cold, and growing colder in the hours before dawn. He shifted his legs so they swung out of the booth, and very slowly got to his feet, supporting himself on the table. He felt as if he had been asleep for a hundred years; his body frail and weak. His jacket was on the seat next to him, and he shrugged it on, in the hope that it might help warm him up a bit.

‘Come on, I will help you back. Then we should talk,’ said Étoile.

Oliver nodded, clutching at his head when the movement made him feel as if his brain was rattling around on the side of his skull.

‘Yes,’ he said, his voice raspy from dehydration; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay awake long enough to talk, but he thought he should at least try, ‘Yes, I think that would be a good idea.’

The walk back to Mme. Bernard’s shop was slow. They had to use a back door to get out of the bar, as the front was naturally all locked up. Étoile knew where Martine stashed a spare key, however, around one of the back of one of the beer barrels it seemed, and undid the door, before coming back for Oliver, and supporting him out. She had one arm around his waist, whilst he had an arm slung around her shoulders. He was under no illusion, however, if he were actually to fall, there was no way that a slip of a girl like Étoile would be able to hold his weight, so he did his best to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, and holding himself upright.

‘Come on,’ said Étoile quietly, as if she were aware how much her voice would carry at this time in the morning, ‘Nice and easy.’

Oliver followed her instructions, taking it slow, putting one foot in front of the other. He felt like a new-born lamb, and his brain was desperately trying to piece together how he got into this state. It couldn’t just have been the whisky, could it? He had never felt this bad from alcohol before, and he was sure that he hadn’t had that much to drink. He knew his limits.

It took a good fifteen minutes to make to Mme. Bernard’s, and about the same again to make it up the iron stairs on the outside of the building. Oliver felt like he was walking through treacle, but with every step he took it did get a little bit easier.

‘Keys?’ asked Étoile when they reached the top.

‘Jacket pocket, inside,’ said Oliver, feeling her root around until she came on the hidden pocket in the lining of his jacket, and undid the zip, finding his keys. He held onto the rail as she let him go to open the door. She came back for him a moment later to help him inside, and over to the bed.

‘Are you sure you do not need _un_ doctor?’ asked Étoile, looking down at him.

Oliver nodded into the pillow. He was lying on Elio’s side, and it still smelt a little bit of him if he buried his nose into the cloth enough.

‘Alright,’ said Étoile, ‘I’m just going to get you some water.’

Oliver didn’t reply, as he tried to stay awake long enough for Étoile to bring it to him. He felt so groggy. In order to combat that sleepiness he sat up on the bed, watching as Étoile found a glass and filled it up in the kitchenette sink. She brought it over and he took a deep gulp, solving the dry mouth problem. There was no way that he would be able to do much talking tonight though; anything in depth would have to wait. There was something he needed to try and clear up, however.

‘What happened?’ asked Oliver, looking at her as she flicked on the bedside light, flooding the room with a warm subtle light.

‘I was hoping you would tell me,’ said Étoile.

‘The last thing I remember is playing poker,’ said Oliver, ‘And drinking whisky.’

‘Who was buying the drinks?’ asked Étoile.

‘Vincent, I think,’ said Oliver, sipping at the water, ‘Maybe they were doubles?’

‘And you don’t remember passing out?’ asked Étoile.

‘No, the last thing I remember is starting the first hand,’ said Oliver.

‘Hmmmm,’ said Étoile, ‘I think you were… _drogué_.’

Oliver looked at her, assuming the translation, ‘Drugged?’

Étoile stuck her tongue out and tapped it, in a motion of someone taking LSD.

Oliver instantly felt sick, ‘But why?’

Étoile shook her head, ‘I don’t know, I said that they were not nice men, but I don’t know why they would do this.’

Oliver’s head was pounding as he tried to think about it. He felt sick, and he could barely think. He put the glass of water, now nearly empty, on the bedside table.

‘I need to sleep,’ said Oliver, his mind overwhelmed and aching, ‘Can you stay?’

Étoile nodded, ‘Elio won’t mind?’

Oliver chuckled despite himself, ‘He’s not here, and I just meant to sleep. Not for anything else.’

‘I know,’ said Étoile with a shrug, ‘But some couples would be upset by that.’

Oliver’s head was too painful to really think about that at that particular moment in time. He needed to sleep. He curled back onto his pillow and pulled up the throw that he and Elio had found in a kooky store a few streets away last week. He felt Étoile taking his shoes off and putting them on the floor beside the bed, before she lay down on the other side of the bed, the side that was normally his, flicked the light off, and pulled up the throw over herself.

The world was swimming for him again, and it was just easier if his eyes were closed. He shut his eyes and sleep quickly overtook him once more.

**

There was a shrill noise permeating his sleep, and it was not being kind to his pounding head. He groaned and buried himself into the pillow some more.

‘Oliver, _le téléphone,’_ Étoile’s voice came from beside him.

It took him a few seconds to register what she’d said, before he was up on his feet, way too quickly and nearly catapulting himself onto the floor as his head spun, in his haste to reach the telephone.

‘Hello?’ he huffed out into the phone.

‘Oliver! You are there!’ Elio’s relieved voice on the other end of the phone, ‘Where have you been?!’

The memory came stomping back into his head like a marching band; he’d been supposed to ring Elio last night.

‘Shit, Elio, I’m so sorry!’ he said, still trying to control his spinning headache, ‘I was meant to ring yesterday wasn’t I?’

‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ said Elio, his voice quickly moving from relieved to annoyed.

‘Something happened,’ said Oliver, ‘But I’m okay.’

‘What happened?’ said Elio, ‘What the fuck does that mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Oliver, ‘I’m still trying to piece it together myself.’

‘Did you get drunk?’ asked Elio, his voice now racing past annoyed to extremely pissed off.

‘No!’ said Oliver, sensing that this conversation was going from bad to worse, ‘No, I don’t know what happened. Étoile found me at the bar at 4 this morning. She said she thought I might have been drugged- ’

‘Drugged?!’ Elio nearly shouted, ‘What the fuck? What the fuck happened?’

‘I don’t know!’ said Oliver, sounding exasperated at Elio’s constant questioning about something he didn’t know the answer to, ‘I remember playing poker, and then the next thing I remember is Étoile waking me up and helping me home.’

‘Don’t sound like that,’ said Elio, ‘I’m just worried.’

‘I know,’ said Oliver, lowering his voice, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worried. I’m just as confused, I promise.’

‘Do you think you were drugged?’ asked Elio, his voice gentler than before.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Oliver, ‘I’ve not got anything to compare it to. All I can say is that I’ve never felt like that before.’

‘Have you called the doctor?’ asked Elio.

‘No,’ said Oliver, ‘Étoile asked me last night whether I needed one, but I feel a bit better now that I’ve been asleep. It just feels like a bad hangover, but with a more disorientating edge.’

‘You’ll go to the doctor’s though if you start to feel worse?’ said Elio.

Oliver couldn’t help but smile at the fact that his boy was trying to look after him, even though he was hundreds of miles of away.

‘Yes, I’ll go,’ said Oliver, ‘But I think sleep will cure whatever this is.’

‘Have you checked your stuff?’ said Elio, ‘The stuff you had with you? Was anything taken?’

‘I haven’t,’ said Oliver, ‘In all honesty it didn’t even occur to me to check last night.’

‘Go and check,’ said Elio, ‘I’ll wait.’

‘Alright,’ said Oliver, ‘Give me a moment.’

He put the phone down on the table, receiver up, as he went over to the jacket that he had been wearing the night before. He checked in the pockets systematically, taking out his wallet, and the keys that Étoile had put back in there. He flipped open the wallet, and it became instantly clear that someone had looked through it. It still had everything in it, the money and his credit cards, ID, and a few other things such as old receipts and store loyalty cards for stores he would never again visit. But things were in the wrong place. His ID had been put back in a non-see-through pocket, when he knew he always kept it somewhere where if he just opened his wallet, he could show it to someone without having to actually get it out. The photo of Elio that he carried in the other see through pocket had also been put back, but it was on its side, rather than the right way up. It was almost as if the person who had gone through his wallet didn’t care that he would know.

Étoile was looking at him, a worried look on her face, as he checked everything in there. Then he realised that there _was_ something missing. Not from his wallet, but from one of the pockets in his jacket. There had been some notes he had been carrying on the DuBois book, thinking that if the others were late to the poker game, then he would have a look over them, and see whether he could make any more sense of them.

But they weren’t in there anymore. He looked around, just to check that they hadn’t fallen out of his pocket. He wandered over to the chair where he had been studying with the book yesterday, to see whether he was misremembering taking them. No, the book was still there, along with some of his other notes, but not the ten or so pages that he’d had with him last night. He frowned; that was seriously odd. What an odd thing to take, if they were going to take anything. Why not take his money? Or his keys?

He wandered back over to the phone, pushing his hand backwards through his hair.

‘Hello? Elio? You still there?’ he said, as he put the phone back to his ear.

‘Yes, I’m here,’ said Elio, ‘Did you check everything?’

‘Yeah,’ said Oliver, ‘Someone definitely went through my pockets last night, and didn’t seem to care that I knew that they did.’

‘Was anything taken?’ asked Elio, his voice edged with worry, ‘ _Jesu_ Oliver, anything could have happened. You could have been killed or something.’

‘It’s okay, everything’s fine. Nothing important was taken; just a set of notes that I’d been carrying around with me, from the book I found downstairs,’ said Oliver, trying to soothe Elio’s fears.

‘Notes?’ said Elio, his voice sounding more and more confused, ‘Why would anyone take your notes?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Oliver, ‘Why not the money I was carrying?’

Elio was silent for a moment, before he spoke again, ‘I’m going to come back as soon as possible.’

‘What?’ asked Oliver, ‘I thought you were going to stay for a couple more days?’

‘I was,’ said Elio, ‘But if there’s something weird going on, I want to be there.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Oliver, ‘You don’t need to. I think it’s going to be ok now.’

‘Ok?’ asked Elio, ‘Oliver! You were drugged! And somebody took your notes for a reason we don’t know. There’s something dodgy going on, and I feel safer if I’m there with you. I can keep an eye on you.’

Oliver smiled down the phone, ‘I’d like it if you came back early. I miss you.’

‘I miss you too,’ said Elio, ‘I’ll have to talk to Marzia, but I think she’ll be alright now.’

‘Only if you’re sure,’ said Oliver.

‘I’m sure,’ said Elio, ‘I’ll talk to my dad, and see when I can get flight home.’

‘Home,’ Oliver repeated, ‘I like that.’

‘Well it is,’ said Elio, ‘It’s my home now. And I want to be back there, so we can discover whatever the fuck is going on.’

‘Alright,’ said Oliver, ‘Well then, I’ll see you soon. Love you.’

‘I love you too,’ said Elio, ‘Oh, and Oliver?’

‘Yes?’ he asked, a small smile on his face.

‘Don’t fucking scare me like that again,’ said Elio, his voice deadly serious, ‘I’ll see you soon.’

Oliver chuckled, before the phoneline went dead, and he put the receiver back on the cradle. He turned back around, to see Étoile still sitting on the bed, wrapped up in the throw. Now that he thought about it; it was pretty cold in here, so he went and turned the heater on, before heading back over and sitting on the bed. His headache was still there, but it wasn’t nearly as violent as it had been when he’d first woken up.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Étoile, her face worried.

‘Alright,’ said Oliver, looking at her, ‘But, I think we need to talk.’

She nodded cautiously, ‘I will try my best.’

‘Last night you told me you were scared of Monsieur Rousseau,’ said Oliver, and he registered the brief flash that passed over her face. He wouldn’t of exactly called it fear, but it was certainly a visceral reaction to the name.

‘ _Oui_ ,’ said Étoile, ‘And now I think you know why I said it.’

‘Yes and no,’ said Oliver, ‘But I need you to tell me what you know. I need you to tell me what the hell is going on here.’

Étoile paused for a moment, as if considering, before she nodded gently, ‘Yes, alright.’

 


	16. Champagne For My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half-truths and leading questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: 'Champagne For My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends' by Fall Out Boy

Étoile was sat crossed legged on the bed, holding onto the large mug full of coffee that Oliver had passed to her. It was his usual mug, and he was using Elio’s, and it looked massive in her petite hands. Apparently, she liked her coffee black, but with three sugars.

He dithered for a moment as he came back from the small kitchen area with his own mug; he didn’t know whether to sit on the bed as well; he didn’t want her to feel as if he was crowding her, but at the same time if he sat on a chair facing her, it would seem as if he was interviewing her. That would be just as odd. Étoile, as usual, came to the rescue, by patting the duvet in front of her, inviting him to sit on the comfy cover. He was careful not to spill his own coffee as he sat down. He didn’t cross his legs; he was too big to do that comfortably, unlike Elio.

‘Where do you want to start?’ she said softly, ‘Or where would you like me to start?’  

‘You could start by telling me your name, if you want to?’ asked Oliver.

Étoile smiled at him, ‘Why? Do you not believe it’s Étoile?’

‘It very well could be,’ said Oliver, ‘But I figure it isn’t? But I guess it doesn’t matter; what do you want to be called?’

Étoile shrugged, ‘The name my parents gave me is Adele. But I think I would struggle to answer to it, because I have not used it in so long. I think Étoile would be better, then at least I will know that you are talking to me. ’

‘How long have you been here? How old are you?’ he asked.

‘How old do you think I am?’ asked Étoile with a little giggle.

‘Nineteen?’ asked Oliver, trying to hedge his bets.

‘Twenty-one,’ said Étoile with a shrug, ‘Close.’

‘And how long have you been here?’ asked Oliver, almost scared to hear the answer, knowing what Étoile did to earn money.

‘Seven years,’ said Étoile, not blinking. He let that information sink in; she had been fourteen when she had come here. It wasn’t as bad as it could be, but it still wasn’t fantastic.

‘And have you been working with Monsieur Rousseau ever since?’ asked Oliver, definitely not wanting to hear this answer, but feeling he needed to hear the whole story.

‘Yes,’ said Étoile with a shrug, ‘Although I only began being a whore when I was fifteen.’

‘Oh well that’s so much better,’ said Oliver, unable to help himself. Étoile smirked in response to his word vomit.  

Sorry,’ he said, trying to collect himself back together. The more he learned about Monsieur Rousseau, the more he wanted to find the man and kill him. Well, perhaps not kill him; that was a little bit extreme, but certainly get the police on him and have him locked away for as long as possible. That didn’t make quite as a good a movie strap line though.

‘It’s alright,’ said Étoile, ‘I know it’s not the best story in the world.’

‘Why did it happen?’ asked Oliver, ‘Why did you end up here?’

‘There’s no real sadness here, I wasn’t kicked out, and I’m not an orphan,’ said Étoile with a shrug, ‘I ran away from home, and never went back. I regret it; of course I do. But I hated where I lived; I fought with my parents; and I was bullied at school. I was fourteen years old, I thought I was a grown up. Paris was exciting; so I grabbed all the money I had, stole some of my mother’s jewellery, and ran away.’

Oliver didn’t really know what to say in response to that, so he decided to stay quiet. He’d asked Étoile for her story, and now she was telling him.

‘I’m not a saint,’ said Étoile, ‘And I’ve never pretended to be.’

‘I know,’ said Oliver, ‘I’m not judging.’

‘I know you’re not,’ said Étoile, taking a sip of the coffee, ‘As I said, I do regret it. But it’s not as if I can go home.’

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘I stole my mother’s jewellery,’ said Étoile, ‘And then I sold it. I doubt they would want to see me ever again.’

Oliver stayed silent again. He didn’t feel like he was really in position to counsel Étoile on her family life when he’d only learnt her real name five minutes ago. Quite apart from the fact that his own mother was unlikely ever to speak to him again. The thought caused him a weird sort of jolt in his stomach; he hadn’t really thought about his own family since he’d telephoned to say that he wasn’t coming home. He wondered how, if at all, he might be able to reconnect with them.

‘So you’ve been with Monsieur Rousseau ever since?’ he asked, turning his full attention back to Étoile.

‘I found Alexandre’s bar within a few weeks of arriving in Paris, fell in with that crowd and that’s where I’ve been since,’ said Étoile, ‘And Monsieur Rousseau had me start working for him. First as a pickpocket, and then he started finding me clients who would pay good money for me to sleep with them. I didn’t think it was so bad; they paid a lot, and I got to keep some of what they gave me. Of course, he took the rest. The one time I was arrested for pickpocketing he came and got me out, made the charges go away. When I was younger he was the one looking out for me, or so it seemed. I was earning money, had a place to stay and food to eat, and I was living in the most amazing city _tout le monde_ , what is there not to like?’

Oliver could think of plenty of objectionable things in what she had just said, including a criminal clearly taking advantage of a vulnerable young woman to make money. Then again, he hadn’t expected to hear Étoile’s story and find out that Rousseau was a saint. He knew the man was a crook, just from his meeting him the previous night, even if the following events hadn’t transpired.

‘And now?’ asked Oliver

‘Now I know better,’ said Étoile, ‘But I am stuck. He knows everything about me, and could see me dead or caught very quickly. He knows that I know too much, and will do anything to keep me.’

‘Know about what?’ he asked.

‘There is a lot _je sais,_ ’ said Étoile, ‘Rousseau has been involved in many many things over the years, with many bad people, and many bad results. But he knows how to make me suffer, and to make Saphr suffer, and I do not want that. She is like a sister to me.’

‘And now? Why would they drug me just to steal some notes and look through my wallet without taking anything?’ said Oliver.

‘I don’t entirely know what’s going on,’ said Étoile, ‘I just know that they’re involved in something big. Moving a lot of contraband around the continent for some very big people. The only problem is, as far as I can tell, is that they don’t have half of it yet.’

‘What?’ said Oliver, ‘What are they dealing in?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Étoile, ‘But I know that they’re looking to find whatever it is. They’ve promised these people they’re dealing with these massive payouts; I heard Rousseau talking and it was enormous sums of money, and they’re beginning to get desperate, because – as far as I know – the deadline is coming up.’

Oliver was just as confused once she had said all this as he was before she had started.

‘What does the Professor have to do with this? What do my notes have to do this?’ asked Oliver.

‘I don’t know,’ said Étoile, ‘I’ve only seen the Professor a few times, but I have seen him with Rousseau. I think he has something to do with finding whatever it is. What work are… were… you doing for him? I take it you’re not going to anymore?’

Oliver chuckled, ‘I guess not. I think last night is the equivalent of getting my pink slip.’

Étoile looked confused, before he clarified, ‘Getting fired.’

‘Ah, and you were working on this alone?’ asked Étoile.

Just after she said that Oliver smacked himself on the forehead at his own stupidity, ‘Of course; Jeanne! I should ask her what the hell is going on…’

‘That might be a good start?’ suggested Étoile.

‘Half a moment,’ said Oliver, slipping off the bed again and going back to the phone. Jeanne’s number was on a scrap of paper underneath the dialling pad. It was for a local cheap hotel where she had been staying, on some kind of understanding with the owner, for the duration of her research in Paris. It rang through to the reception desk as always.

‘ _Bonjour?’_

‘ _Ah Bonjour,’_ said Oliver, instantly cringing at his bad French accent, and the fact that Étoile – who obviously spoke fluent French – was sitting and listening to him. He decided to not even try and just went for English, ‘Can I be put through to Jeanne Dumas please?’

‘Hold on one moment,’ said the reception, ‘I will just check the log.’

There was a pause, and Oliver could hear the turning of pages from beside the telephone, before it was picked back up.

‘Do you know what room she is in Monsieur?’ asked the receptionist.

‘Erm, I think it was 309?’ said Oliver, trying to remember from the last time he called. He hadn’t written it down at the time.

There was another pause as the receptionist looked at something again, ‘I’m sorry Monsieur, but the lady who was in the room checked out last night.’

‘What?’ asked Oliver, astounded, ‘Really?’

‘ _Oui Monsieur_ ,’ said the receptionist, ‘Would you like me to see if she left a forwarding address?’

‘Um, no, that’s alright,’ said Oliver, his voice sounding slightly shaken, ‘Thank you for your help.’

‘ _D’accord Monsieur_ , have a nice day,’ said the receptionist, and then put the phone down. The likelihood of him having a nice day was now probably severely curtailed he thought as he put the phone down.

‘Was she not there?’ asked Étoile as he turned back around, picking his now lukewarm coffee back up again.  

Oliver shook his head, ‘She checked out last night. She must have known that I was going to be attacked.’

Étoile’s mouth fell open in an ‘o’ of surprise, mirroring his own feelings on the matter. He guessed he shouldn’t have been surprised that Jeanne had been in on it as well.

Étoile stayed for the rest of the morning, helping him get through his anger and annoyance at being duped into… well, whatever he had been duped into doing. He was so frustrated, because he wanted to know what the hell was going on, and he couldn’t piece together any of it, other than that somehow, he had managed to fall in with a group of criminals, had somehow aided them – even though he didn’t know how, and now they had scattered to the four winds.

Part of him was tempted to go back to Alexandre’s bar, see if there was anyone about, and demand to know what the fuck was going on. Étoile talked him down from that one, convincing him that it probably wasn’t a good idea, until he had a better picture of what was happening. Ultimately, he was irritated because logically he could understand his bad luck in falling in with some bad people, and being caught up in something; but he couldn’t piece together their apparent interest in the DuBois notes, or what the hell a British history professor had to do with the whole thing. He said this to Étoile.

‘Perhaps that is a good place to start then?’ asked Étoile, ‘Try and find out more about the Professor? Do you know where he worked?’

Oliver wracked his brains, trying to remember what Jeanne – if that was even her real name – had told him when they’d first been introduced.

‘Trinity? I think?’

Étoile frowned, ‘Isn’t there more than one of those?’

She was right, of course. Oliver knew by now that Étoile was clearly a lot smarter than she led most people to believe.

‘Dublin, I think she said,’ said Oliver, frowning deeply as he searched the depths of his memory of what Jeanne had said.  

‘Well maybe do some research about what he was doing there?’ asked Étoile, ‘That might give you a start at least…?’

‘Yeah, it might,’ said Oliver, ‘At least it will give me something to do. I’ll also keep working on the DuBois book with Elio when he gets back.’

‘When will he be back?’ asked Étoile, putting her now empty mug down on the bedside table.

‘Tomorrow, probably,’ said Oliver, ‘Or maybe late tonight; it depends what flight he is able to get. He wanted to try and get back as soon as possible.’

Étoile smiled, ‘Good, it will be nice to see _Monsieur Elio_ again.’

Oliver grinned slightly wolfishly in her direction after she said this, his brain ticking over to a completely different subject, one that he and Elio had discussed a few times before he disappeared back home to Italy.

‘What?’

‘Do you find Elio attractive?’ Oliver asked her directly.

She looked at him, slightly puzzled, but then shrugged, ‘He is a very beautiful boy. And he is an excellent dancer.’

‘That doesn’t exactly answer my question,’ said Oliver, ‘Would you have sex with him?’

‘ _Monsieur,’_ said Étoile with a grin, ‘You forget what I do. I would have sex with anybody for the right price.’

‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ said Oliver, fully aware that she was teasing him.

‘What did you mean then, _Monsieur?_ ’ she asked, ‘Do not be afraid you will offend me. Trust me, I am not easy to offend.’

‘No, I don’t imagine you are,’ he said with a smile, and then steeled himself for what he was about to say. It had been his idea after all, and Elio had enthusiastically got on board with it, on the proviso that Oliver was the one who sorted it.

‘We want to have sex with you,’ said Oliver, palms face up as he said it, in a gesture almost like a shrug, ‘Both of us together. Or rather I will direct the pair of you. Elio will be the one, if you agree, to actually have sex with you.’  

Étoile looked slightly taken aback, ‘Well, I didn’t think that would be your request.’

Oliver shrugged, ‘Elio thinks your sexy, I think you’re very beautiful. Ever since you and he danced together… it has been something I thought about it.’

It was then that Oliver saw the black fire behind her eyes, the sensuality that he had seen that night when she had danced with Elio. It was clearly something that she could control at the flick of a switch; from the thoughtful girl sitting on his bed, to someone to whom sex was second nature.

‘And when would you wish this to be _Monsieur?_ ’ she asked.

Oliver swallowed, slightly nervous. It was an odd experience for him to be talking about this so candidly with someone whom he did not have any sort of romantic attachment to.

‘Well, it’s Elio’s birthday early next week -’

‘- Oh, and am I to be a present?’ said Étoile, her eyes practically glittering now, ‘How could I possibly decline?’

‘I was hoping you wouldn’t,’ said Oliver.

‘It has been a long time since I had such an offer,’ said Étoile, ‘I must admit that I have found you both very… _érotique_ … to imagine together.’

‘And now you can see it first hand,’ he said with an answering grin.

‘ _Dieu Soit Loué’_ she said with a giggle, ‘We will need to discuss any… details… you want, before the event.’

Oliver nodded, vaguely understanding what she meant, ‘And… how much?’

Étoile seemed to think about it for a moment, but then she shrugged, ‘Do not worry about it _Monsieur_ , we are friends, _non_?’

He agreed with her, after all she had helped him and told him, they were most definitely friends.

‘But won’t, y’know, Monsieur Rousseau be angry with you? I don’t want to cause you any trouble.’

She looked at him as if he were slightly simple, before she slid off the bed.

‘I am not going to tell him, _Monsieur_ ,’ she said, walking around to him. She touched him lightly on the arm and then leant up to kiss him on the cheek.

‘Will you be alright now?’ she asked, ‘I should be getting back.’

‘Yes,’ he said, and then drew her into a deep hug, ‘Thank you for helping me Étoile. I’d have been in an even bigger mess without you.’

‘It is fine,’ she said hugging him back, ‘I will see you soon.’

He grinned as she stepped back, and then picking up her jacket which she had hung on a peg near the balcony door, she slid it on, and slipped out of the doorway into what was left of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is the only payment I get for these stories... so if you're feeling generous; let me know what you think! 
> 
> And Elio will _finally_ be back next chapter! 
> 
> xxx


	17. Just Can't Get Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio returns and... reunion smut ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy smutty Saturday! xxx
> 
> Chapter Title = 'Just Can't Get Enough' by Depeche Mode

Elio couldn’t help but grin to himself as the taxi pulled up into familiar streets. He was exhausted from travelling, but he was glad to be back. He’d left home that morning, after he’d spoken to Marzia on the phone the previous night. She had sounded alright, but she hadn’t wanted to see him; said that everything was as okay as it could be, and that she just needed to rest. She would ring him at the number he’d given her for the Paris address when she was feeling better and was back on her feet. He said that he’d be back to see her before Christmas. It was strange; there had been this moment that had brought them as close as two people might be in their lives, and yet now it was over. It had passed by. Yet the memory would always be there; the possibility of what could have been. But instead of that path, now there was other possibilities in front of both of them.

‘ _Voici,’_ said the taxi driver. He’d had the driver go around to the back of the shop, as the streets in front towards the Notre Dame would still be pedestrian and cyclists only at this time of day.

‘ _Combien?’_ asked Elio from the backseat. The taxi driver told him the fare and he handed over the money, rounding it up to leave a tip. His father had given him some spare cash, to help him further. Whilst he knew that they had a place to live, he knew that they weren’t making any additional money. This was especially true now that Oliver’s research work had reached the end that it had.

It was growing dark, the long days stretching into the blue ink of the night. He got out onto the street, and thanked the driver as he helped him get his case out the back. It wasn’t all that heavy. He turned to the gate as the driver disappeared, and opened it to the yard where the iron stairs headed on up to the backdoor of the flat that he shared with Oliver. He assumed that he would be in.

His case wasn’t that heavy, but it was still a pain in the ass to lug up three flights of stairs to the balcony door, and he was out of breath by the time he reached the top. He reached up a hand to knock, not being bothered to search for his key in the bottom of the rucksack that he was also wearing. A few moments later and he heard the clunk of the key in the lock from the inside, and the door opened, to reveal Oliver, wearing a loose t-shirt, and pyjama pants. He was clearly relaxing before bed. Elio couldn’t help but let a large smile grace as his face as he drank in the sight for the second or so before he was crushed to Oliver’s chest in a huge hug.

‘I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow!’ Oliver said, whilst Elio’s face was still mushed into his chest.

‘Managed to get an earlier flight,’ he said, his voice muffled by the material of Oliver’s shirt. Oliver let him go only an inch or two so that he could lean down and kiss him thoroughly; he tasted like peppermint, clearly he’d already brushed his teeth.  

‘I have missed you,’ Oliver said a moment later, ‘I know it’s only been like ten days… but still.’

‘I missed you too,’ said Elio, pushing gently on Oliver’s chest so that they could actually step inside the apartment, rather than standing out on the balcony. Oliver grinned and stepped back, letting them both inside. Elio shut the door behind himself, and dropped his case on the floor. The curtains were closed against the night, and the room was softly lit for the evening.

‘Was the journey alright?’ asked Oliver, ‘Do you want some tea?’

‘Um, yes please,’ he said, ‘And yeah it was fine, although on the bus from Crema to the airport I was sat next to an old lady who fell asleep on my shoulder and then started snoring.’

Oliver chuckled, ‘Well, she must have known that you make a good pillow.’

‘Yeah for you!’ he said with a grin, ‘Not for some random old Italian lady!’

Oliver turned back to the kitchen, as he sat down on the bed, which was still nicely made up from that morning.

‘Ah, _our bed_ ,’ he said dramatically, flopping back onto it and spreading out like a starfish.

‘Surely you slept in your own bed when you were at home?’ asked Oliver as the kettle boiled behind him.

‘Yeah,’ said Elio, stretching out luxuriously, ‘But it just didn’t feel right. Not anymore. This is my bed now.’

He heard Oliver smile rather than saw it, but then sat up as he heard him pouring the tea.

‘Wait for it to brew for a moment,’ said Oliver, leaning against the kitchen counter. Elio rubbed his eyes with his fists, trying to rub the tiredness of travel out of them for a little while longer, so that he could focus on the here and now. He’d come back home earlier than planned for a reason.

‘So, what happened?’ he asked, ‘And more to the point, what the fuck do we do now?’

‘I told you about Jeanne, didn’t I?’ asked Oliver, ‘About that she’d disappeared?’

‘Yeah,’ said Elio, ‘You mentioned that on the phone last night. So, it seems like everyone and their uncle knew what was going on; apart from us.’

‘That appears to be the long and the short of it,’ said Oliver, turning back to the tea to add milk, and one sugar to Elio’s, before turning back and handing it to him. Then he turned and wandered over to the table, where the DuBois book lay, now covered in sticky note tabs and with extra sheets of paper in it where Oliver had been trying to work out the codes within.

‘This the book then?’ asked Elio, as Oliver handed it to him, ‘The one they stole the notes from?’

‘That’s it,’ said Oliver as he flipped it open and began looking through the first couple of pages, ‘I’ve figured out the dates; they’re all in the early 1940s, when Paris was occupied by the Nazis.’

‘But no luck with the code,’ said Elio squinting at the words.

‘Not really,’ said Oliver, ‘At first I thought he was using pig latin, but with French words, but then that didn’t fit with most of it. I could get some words here and there, such as “religion”, and “watched”, and “money”, but then they didn’t transfer over into a comprehensive pattern with the rest of the book – so I genuinely don’t know.’

‘Have you asked Mme. Bernard?’ asked Elio, taking a sip of his tea.

‘No,’ Oliver admitted, ‘I didn’t really know how to have that conversation after what happened at the bar; “hey Mme. Bernard, some criminals seem to be really interested in what your father was up to during the war – do you know if he was involved in anything fishy or illegal that he might have written about?”’

‘Hmmm, I see your point,’ said Elio, glancing back down at the words. He could make sense of some of it; but without knowing the pattern, it would be impossible to get the entire meaning of the pages. He could see why Oliver thought of pig latin – there were French verbs, written in their infinitive, ending in the suffix ‘ay’, like one might do with pig latin. But not all of them. And as far as he could tell most of the other words didn’t fit the pig latin pattern either.

‘We don’t have to crack it right now,’ said Oliver with a shrug, ‘I just wanted to show it to you.’

‘Well it’s definitely complicated, that’s for sure,’ said Elio, ‘It’s clearly a mix of different codes. I wonder how he remembered them all?’

Oliver shrugged, ‘Maybe wrote them in another journal or something? But that was the only one that was on the shelf.’

‘Yeah, I doubt whoever it was would keep the code and the mnemonic together, so that anyone could access it,’ said Elio, shutting the book and setting it aside on the bedside table.

‘Probably not the best plan,’ agreed Oliver.

‘And there’s been no more… odd… things since the other night?’ said Elio, slightly fearful.

‘No,’ said Oliver, ‘Étoile said she’d watch out and tip me off if she thought anything weird was going on, but she met me yesterday and said that she hadn’t seen Vincent, or Monsieur Rousseau, since the day I was attacked.’

‘I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing,’ he said cautiously, continuing to drink his tea.

‘Yeah, neither was I,’ said Oliver quietly, ‘It feels like something should have happened. Clearly, they didn’t drug me just for fun; they wanted something, and I don’t know if they got it or not.’

‘I still think you should have gone to the doctors after that,’ he said, ‘Who knows what the hell it could have been?’

‘I doubt a doctor would have known either,’ said Oliver with a shrug, ‘Étoile said she thought it was probably rohypnol or something like that.’

‘Oh fantastic,’ said Elio with a roll of his eyes, unable to suppress his sarcasm.

‘Look, I’m fine, okay?’ said Oliver, a hint of annoyance showing through, ‘I was just a bit shaken up was all.’

‘Unsurprisingly,’ said Elio, ‘Look, I don’t want to argue; I was just really really worried.’

‘I know,’ said Oliver, blowing out through his mouth as if to dissipate any irritation, ‘I know. It just all happened so fast, you know?’

‘Hmmm,’ he said, finishing his tea and getting up off the bed to put it back into the kitchen area, ‘Right, I’m going to take a shower, get this airplane stink off me.’

‘I’ll just finish tidying up,’ said Oliver, gesturing to the remainder of his cooking from dinner earlier.

‘And then…’ said Elio with a grin.

‘And then...?’ asked Oliver

‘Bed?’ he said, hopefully.

‘I thought you were tired,’ said Oliver, trying to keep a straight face.

‘I _am_ tired,’ said Elio, ‘But I think I can find it in me for some sleepy sex, or for some quick sex; either way, not too bothered, as long as I get to touch you.’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Oliver, ‘Go on then, go in the shower, and then come to bed.’

Elio grinned happily to himself and pulled his jumper and shirt off in one fell swoop, dumping it on the floor beside the bathroom door, before entering inside. He left the door open as he shed the rest of his clothing, and turned the shower on. He waited for the water to heat up a bit before stepping into the shower over the bath. He immediately let out a sigh of contentment as the warm water cascaded down his back and over his body. It was delightful, as he washed away the grime of travelling. He let his head fall back under the water, before reaching for the body soap and beginning to wash.

He had left the door open purposefully, and knew that Oliver was most definitely watching him surreptitiously as he finished cleaning the kitchen, stealing glances at his naked, wet body, in full view of the kitchen. His dick definitely began to perk up at the idea of teasing Oliver, so he reached for the bottle of absolutely-nothing-in-it-but-goodness moisturiser that Oliver insisted upon using, and poured some into his hand. He knew the other man was definitely paying attention as he let out a soft moan as he took himself in his hand, and began to stroke gently. He had no intention of letting himself cum like this though, he just enjoyed teasing Oliver.

He left his cock alone for a moment to continue washing his hair, teasing the shampoo through his dark brown curls that would definitely be in need of a cut soon. He cleaned his body thoroughly, paying special attention to his ass; not purely for Oliver’s voyeuristic benefit; it was one of the cruder realities of preparing for anal sex. It came with territory. After washing the soap out of his hair, he returned to his main mission, knowing now that Oliver was simply standing by the bathroom door, watching him. He was resolutely turned away from him, however, pretending that he hadn’t noticed, as he continued to rub his body with soap. He reached for the moisturiser again, putting some on his fingers, ignoring the gasp from Oliver as he realised exactly what he was going to do about two seconds before he did it. He traced his fingers back down his ass, where he had washed thoroughly just a few moments earlier, and leaning forward he began to circle his hole with his fingers, before gently pressing one inside, unable to stop himself from gasping at the sensation. He continued that for a moment, before adding a second, using the slickness of the moisturiser to ease the way. The angle wasn’t great, but the feeling of his fingers rubbing over his sensitive rim was enough to make small pulses of pleasure begin to gather in his stomach.

He heard a step behind him, ‘You are such a fucking tease.’

‘Huh?’ he said, feigning innocence, and then giggled as Oliver took hold of his wrist of the hand that he was currently teasing himself with and pulled it away.

‘Mine,’ said Oliver possessively, ‘You don’t get to tease me like that,’

‘You’ll get wet,’ said Elio, as the shower was still running.

‘Come on,’ said Oliver, ‘Get out,’

Elio grinned as he twisted slightly to turn the shower off, before gently clambering out of the bath. He barely gotten two feet on the ground before Oliver was holding him around the waist, pulling him back against his chest.

‘You’ll get soaked,’ Elio giggled as Oliver manhandled him around so that he was facing the wall.

‘I couldn’t give less of a fuck right now,’ growled Oliver, nipping at his ear, before pulling his shirt off and kicking off his pyjama pants so that he was naked behind Elio. Naked, and judging by the erection pressing against his ass, extremely turned on. Elio gasped as Oliver pushed him up against the wall, hand sliding down his wet back, and to his hole. Elio moaned as he felt Oliver’s fingers where his own had been only moments before, the leftover moisturiser slicking the way for him.

‘Are you ready baby, or do you need more?’ Oliver asked, licking up a stripe up the side of his neck after he had done so, before gently sucking under his ear on his neck.

‘Just do it,’ said Elio, his forehead against his arms on the wall, as Oliver lined himself up to sink into his willing body.

He moaned as Oliver did just that, mingled with the slightest hitch of pain at the stretch of his body, as the head of Oliver’s cock breached his body. Of course, he wasn’t as prepared as he should have been, but it didn’t matter, he loved the feeling of Oliver taking him, of _feeling_ it. Oliver didn’t stop at the noise, but kept pressing forward until he was fully seated within his body, his hips flush against his ass. He groaned at the feeling of it, of the fullness of taking all of Oliver’s cock in one thrust. He pushed his ass back to let Oliver know that that was exactly what he liked, but he didn’t have much chance as Oliver held him, one hand on his waist, the other on his hip, and began fucking him, _hard_.

‘ _Yes, Oliver,_ ’ moaned Elio against his forearms; how did this man always know exactly what he wanted, even if he didn’t properly ask?

All that came in reply were Oliver’s grunts of effort as he thrust forward, his hips slapping against Elio’s ass with the sound of flesh against wet flesh. He was nearly pulling all the way out before slamming back in again, Elio’s body being able to do little else except tighten down on his thrusts, and ride the wave of ecstasy that Oliver was building for him. Elio wouldn’t have been surprised if his ass was turning red from the repeated impact, but he didn’t care, as Oliver adjusted his angle so that he was thrusting against his prostate on every pass, causing a white-hot bolt of pleasure to course through him. Elio moaned as he spread his legs further to be more accommodating to Oliver, as he drove into him.

‘Uh harder,’ Elio whined, wanting to _feel_ it, wanting to _bruise_.

‘You like that baby?’ growled Oliver, panting in his ear, ‘Want me to fuck you hard enough that you won’t be able to sit down tomorrow?’

His hands were tight on his waist and on his hip, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he had finger shaped bruises in the morning. At least they were in a place that was easy to hide. He could barely think on that those, as his brain had currently relocated to somewhere between his dick and his asshole.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Elio panted, ‘Yes, Oliver! Oh God.’

Oliver bit down on the side of his neck, probably bruising there as well, as he pushed Elio past the point of pleasure, and to the place of pure sensation. All he could think about was the feeling of the cock in his hole, pounding against the centre of his nerves, and the hard grip of Oliver’s strong hands on his now only slightly damp body. His curls were sticking to the nape of his neck as he moaned.

‘ _Oh god, I’m gonna cum, please!’_ Elio whined, ‘ _There, there!’_

‘Touch yourself,’ growled Oliver. Elio immediately did as he was bid, moving one of his arms from holding himself up against the wall, to wrap around his leaking cock, stroking himself fast and hard in rhythm with Oliver’s thrusts into his body.  He couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, he was _so close_ , the build-up in the pit of his stomach threatening to make him practically pass out. One more push against his prostate was all it took and he came; his muscles clenching in sheer reactive pleasure as he threw his head back against Oliver’s chest, delight pulsing inside of him as his orgasm pounded through his body. A few seconds later Oliver came as well, his own release pulsing inside of Elio’s body, leaving him gasping as he kissed along Elio’s shoulder, his hips thrusting deeply inside of him, his animal instinct to drive deeply taking over.

‘ _Fuck,’_ Oliver murmured a few seconds later as he pulled back from his body. Elio hissed slightly as his cock dragged over his now over-sensitive rim, but it passed as Oliver stepped back. He was silent for a moment, but then drew in a sharp intake of breath as he felt Oliver’s fingers, cold with something, back against his hole.

‘Fuck, what?’ he said, shying away, but Oliver kept hold of his hip.

‘It’s just some of the moisturiser,’ said Oliver, slicking it against it, ‘So that you’re not too sore. That was pretty rough.’

‘Yeah,’ said Elio sleepily, ‘Holy shit that was good.’

‘Mmmm,’ said Oliver, nuzzling at the back of his neck, ‘Seems like good things do come to those who wait.’

Elio giggled, and then sighed contentedly, turning around, ‘And now to bed?’

Oliver chuckled, ‘Yeah, although if you think I’m doing that again quickly, you’re probably mistaken.’

‘Ha, no,’ said Elio, ‘I’m too sleepy… maybe in the morning. If I’m not too sore still.’

‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’ asked Oliver, looking concerned.

‘No,’ he said, leaning up and pecking him softly on the mouth, ‘And even if you did, it’s cause I wanted you to.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Oliver, not sounding entirely convinced by this argument, ‘Alright.’

Elio took his hand then, and made him step out of his pyjama pants that were still pooled around his ankles, before they both exited the bathroom. Oliver leaned back to turn the light off, and they headed for bed. Elio’s hair was still slightly damp, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he curled up under the covers, with Oliver’s warm chest to his back, holding him close.


	18. I Never Told You What I Do For A Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakthroughs and promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you still keeping up with this story! It means the world to hear what you think of everything as the mystery unravels... xxx
> 
> Chapter Title: 'I Never Told You What I Do For A Living' by My Chemical Romance

Mme. Bernard came up the stairs the following morning with the post. It was still relatively early, so Oliver was still in bed when Elio opened the door after she had knocked.

‘ _Oh, good morning Elio_ ,’ she said with a smile, ‘ _I’m glad to see you back_!’

‘ _Thank you,’_ he said, ‘ _It’s good to see you again.’_

‘ _Did you get back last night?’_ she asked, ‘ _I didn’t hear you.’_

‘ _I came up the back stairs. I didn’t want to disturb you._ ’

‘ _I’ve brought the post up for you both,’_ she said, handing him a small bundle of mail.

‘ _Thanks, I can come back to work today if you would like_?’ said Elio, and then glanced over his shoulder to see Oliver – awake, and clearly debating whether to get out of bed and try and get dressed, or stay in bed and be hidden by the bedclothes.

‘ _I would let you in_ ,’ said Elio, ‘ _But Oliver’s… asleep_.’

Mme. Bernard grinned, ‘ _It’s alright. And don’t worry about work today, I’ve got it covered because I didn’t think you’d be back until today anyway, but if you could work tomorrow, then that would be fantastic_.’

‘ _Of course_ ,’ said Elio, ‘ _Thank you for being so understanding about me disappearing for a while._ ’

‘ _There’s nothing to worry about_ , _ma cher’_ she said, ‘ _Alright, I’ll leave you to it_.’

‘ _Do you want to come for a cup of coffee this afternoon? When Oliver’s a bit more...?_ ’

‘ _Decent?_ ’ Mme. Bernard supplied with a grin, ‘ _And yes, that would be nice_.’

‘ _See you later then,’_ said Elio, as she turned and disappeared back down the stairs. Elio shut the door behind her, and turned back to the still-prone form of Oliver in bed, looking over at him. He had one arm up behind his head, revealing the tuft of sandy-brown hair underneath his arm, and Elio had the immediate desire to snuggle into him. He loved the smell of Oliver in the morning; that slightly musky smell that he got when he slept was intoxicating as far as Elio was concerned.

‘ _Paresseux’_ said Elio with a grin, looking over at him.

‘Well whatever I’m sure that compliment was, I’m very comfortable, thank you very much,’ said Oliver, ‘And seeing as I don’t have to rush to be anywhere today, I don’t see why I shouldn’t stay comfortable.’

‘Do you want to go out for lunch?’ said Elio absently, as he flicked through the pile of post in his hands. Some of it was mailshots for local companies or for banks, but there was a postcard from Chiara who was currently in South America working with a charity. There was also a letter for Oliver, from the University College Dublin, judging by the envelope.

‘For you,’ said Elio, chucking the letter at him with a curve of the wrist. It hit him the neck, causing Oliver to make a little ‘ooof’ of surprise, and then called him ‘a little shit’ with a grin.

‘Why are you writing to Dublin?’ asked Elio, chucking the rubbish post into the bin.

‘I wanted to see if they had any information on our erstwhile Professor,’ said Oliver, tearing the letter open, and scanning his eyes across it, ‘And it seems… that they do.’

‘Oh? And?’

Oliver read from the letter, ‘ _Dear Dr. Davis, thank you for your letter inquiring about Professor Carpenter and his research interests. I regret to inform you that Professor Carpenter left the employ of Trinity College Dublin last academic year to pursue his own research. When he was working here, his interests included the underground Huguenot sect, and their ongoing survival after the St Bartholomew Massacre…’_

Oliver stopped reading, and looked back up at him, ‘He doesn’t even work there anymore! Lying bastard!’

Elio was amazed; the whole thing was just unravelling as quickly they were investigated. As he stood there thinking, he glanced at the postcard from Chiara that was in his hand. It had a picture of small white hill church on the front of it, assumedly a Catholic one as she was in Latin America.

‘Hold on,’ said Elio, pointing at the letter again as his brain went into overdrive, the pieces falling into place with aching clunks, ‘The Huguenot’s were Protestants, right?’

Oliver smirked, ‘That was kind of the point,’

‘Alright,’ said Elio, waving the sarcasm away, ‘But they believed in having the Bible in French, right?’

‘Well, religious texts in the vernacular, yes?’ said Oliver, ‘Where are you going with this?’

Elio put the rest of the post down that he was holding, and hurried over to the DuBois book, where he’d put it last night. He opened it and began to look at the words again, trying to remember what he’d learnt when he was in school.

‘You read Latin, right?’ he said as he clambered back onto the bed, and sat on Oliver’s thighs, causing the bigger man to let out an ‘oof’ at the sudden weight.

‘Yes,’ said Oliver, watching him intently.

‘Okay, cause I’m not good enough at Latin to know if I’m right,’ said Elio, showing him the book, ‘I think; the language is in French, but the grammar rules are from Latin, and then verbs have got the pig latin pattern as well.’

Oliver looked at him, and then back down at the book, his eyes scanning the words, his mouth open as his brain worked into overtime.

‘Fuck,’ he whispered, ‘Fuck me. I think you might be right. Obviously, it’s going to take a bit of working out, but I think that that might be the general pattern here…’

Elio grinned broadly, delighted that he’d probably figured the problem out, ‘Alright, change of plans.’

‘Eh?’ asked Oliver absently, barely glancing up from the book.

‘Precisely,’ Elio said dryly, ‘You’re not going to be all here with me until you’ve figured it out, so instead of lunch, I’ll go and get us some breakfast/brunch from the bakery down the road; what do you want?’

Oliver didn’t immediately respond, other than a noncommittal noise that noted he was half listening. Elio just rolled his eyes and clambered off his boyfriend’s thighs, before grabbing his wallet and jacket, and heading out of the back door. He assumed that whilst he was out, Oliver would at least get dressed, but he wouldn’t put it past him to still be in bed when he returned, thoroughly engrossed in translating the book. He loved him, but damn he was definitely an academic through and through; when he was onto something, he was like a bloodhound on a trail.

Elio walked down the steps and out of the back gate that he come through the previous evening and onto the busy Parisian street. He turned right, towards their favourite bakery, following along with most of the people heading into the centre of the area where they lived. It was still quite mild out, as the early autumn sun hadn’t had a chance to yet start truly warming the ground between the tall buildings either side of the street.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked, keeping his head down. Not particularly for want to not be seen, but more because he had nobody to be seen by, or to talk to, at least until he reached the bakery.

It wasn’t far, and soon he was following the smell of freshly baked bread and pastries to their favourite shop. There was a queue outside, as there normally was, so Elio joined the back of the line to wait. It was moving relatively fast, and he heard the Notre Dame bells chime ten whilst he was waiting. The bakery would be on their second batch now, as the early morning shoppers would have taken most of the batch that came out when the shop first opened.

‘Elio, _bonjour!_ ’ he looked around to see Étoile and Saphr exiting the bakery, both with some kind of pastries in their hand. He was immediately perturbed to see that Étoile had a black eye and a bruised cheek.

‘ _Bonjour,’_ he said, and then gestured to her, ‘ _What happened?_ ’

She shrugged, ‘ _Ah, you know, rough customer._ ’

He didn’t miss the sideways glance that Saphr gave Étoile under her lashes, clearly attempting to be furtive. He didn’t push it any further, however, as Étoile clearly didn’t want to talk about it. He stepped out of the queue in order to talk to them, not wanting to hold anyone else up whilst they chatted.

‘ _Good to see you back, though, Oliver wouldn’t stop whining whilst you were gone. He missed you a lot,_ ’ said Étoile with a grin.

‘ _Oliver, whining?_ ’ he asked with a chuckle.

‘ _Okay, maybe not whining exactly, but he definitely missed you,’_ she said with a smile.

‘ _Thanks for helping him the other night,’_ said Elio, serious for a moment, ‘ _He told me what you did._ ’

‘ _Ah it is nothing,’_ she shrugged, ‘ _You would have done the same, no?_ ’

‘ _Either way, it was much appreciated_.’

‘ _Has he spoken to you about anything else?’_ she asked

‘ _Um, depends what you mean?’_ he said, ‘ _I only got back last night, so not a huge amount, why?’_

‘ _Nevermind,’_ she said evasively, ‘ _I’m sure he will tell you soon enough.’_

‘Errr,’ said Elio, feeling somewhat concerned.

‘ _Oh, don’t worry, ma cher, it is nothing bad,’_ she said with a smile.

‘ _Okay…’_ he said, still not entirely convinced, but prepared to roll with it.

‘ _Are you here for breakfast?’_ asked Étoile, motioning to the bakery.

‘ _Yes, and Oliver will probably be wondering what’s taking so long, although he is somewhat distracted this morning,’_ said Elio.

‘ _He’s probably just glad you’re home,’_ said Étoile, taking a bite of whatever pastry she was holding. She chewed carefully, as if the bruising on her cheek was causing her pain as she moved her jaw. It looked like a fairly recent bruise, obviously only attained within the last day or so.

Elio shrugged and smirked, ‘ _He certainly seemed so last night.’_

Étoile giggled, ‘ _I will let you go then, don’t want to leave Oliver hungry for too long!’_

And with that she gave him a little hug, and took Saphr by the hand, away down the street. He wondered what she had meant about Oliver telling him something, but she’d said it wasn’t a bad something, so he assumed that everything was alright? He’d ask when he got back. With that in mind he re-joined the queue to finally get them some breakfast.

**

‘That took you a while,’ was the first thing that reached his ears when he got back to the flat, ‘Did you have to make the bread yourself?’

Elio rolled his eyes at Oliver’s terrible joke as he took his jacket off, ‘No, but I ran into Étoile and Saphr.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, and Étoile’s got the most impressive black eye,’ said Elio walking to the kitchen and getting two plates.

‘What?’ asked Oliver, turning around from his position at the table, where he currently had the book, several sheets of paper, and a Latin dictionary in front of him. He looked extremely perturbed at the news of Étoile’s injury.

‘Yeah, said it was a customer who gave it to her. Not sure I believe her though.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Oliver, ‘Nor do I. Did she say anything else?’

‘Not about that,’ said Elio, walking over to the table and handing Oliver the plate with three still-warm butter croissants on it.

‘Thank you,’ said Oliver, taking it from him, ‘What do you mean then?’

Elio sat down on the bed and curled his legs up under him, to eat his own food, ‘I don’t really know. She said that you had something to tell me, assumedly involving her.’

He was surprised when Oliver blushed a little; he’d never seen Oliver blush before, he was usually very stoic.

‘What?’

‘Well, you know that time when you two danced together, and it was ridiculously hot?’ said Oliver, putting his plate down, and rubbing his hands on his thighs. Elio had noticed that this was something he did when he was slightly apprehensive about something.

‘Yes?’

‘Well you know that fantasy I talked about, and it made you ridiculously horny, the one where she joined us?’ asked Oliver.

Elio giggled, unable to help himself, ‘Did you ask her?’

‘Well… yeah,’ said Oliver, ‘Because if you don’t ask… then you don’t get. She’s going to join us on your birthday; if you still want to.’

Elio remembered the ridiculously hot and filthy words that had spilled from Oliver’s lips as they’d fucked after the night he’d danced with Étoile. That was definitely something he wanted to experience again.

‘And you’d be in charge?’ asked Elio, shifting slightly as he felt his pants tighten.

‘If you want me to be,’ said Oliver, his eyes darkening slightly with desire.

‘I’d like that a lot,’ said Elio, his mouth open as he thought about it. He could just imagine it; Oliver in charge of the pair of them, dictating his own desires, but ensuring that they both reached new heights as well. His cock was clearly agreeing with his imagination, as he went from interested to hard in the process of about thirty seconds.

‘Problem?’ asked Oliver with a grin on his face, glancing at Elio’s crotch and back again.

He looked up at him, with a challenge in his eyes, ‘Not if you come over here and suck me off.’

Oliver looked at his half-eaten croissant, and the notes he was working on, and then back at him. He clearly decided quickly and got to his feet, giving Elio just enough time to put his own plate on the bedside table before he was pushed backwards onto the bed, giggling madly, as Oliver straddled his thighs and kissed him thoroughly.

The book could wait until after an orgasm, or three.  


	19. To Bring You My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio's birthday morning...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies it's taken me so long to get this out, ~~and Into Darkness~~ , I've just been seriously busy lately, and I've had to write a lot of other things recently. I'm going to be away for the next handful of days, but I promise the second half of this chapter and the next chapter of into Darkness will be up by Mar 10th (*hopes I can keep that promise!*). 
> 
> I know this chapter is short, but I wanted to get _something_ out... thanks so much for staying with me, your feedback and your love means the world!  <3 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'To Bring You My Love' by PJ Harvey

Elio was half asleep in that moment, drifting in and out of some delicious dreams that he couldn’t be quite sure of. He could hardly ever remember his dreams properly; when he did it was usually because they had been nightmares. It was half-light in the apartment, the curtains were blocking out the rising sun of the morning, but not entirely, as the day began below them, and the sounds of the Parisian street drifted up from outside.

It had been three days since he had returned from Italy, and it was a joy to wake up here each morning, rather than in his single bed at home. He rolled over and reached out towards the other person he assumed he would find in his bed, but instead the space was empty. He frowned slightly, without opening his eyes, but he was used to it by now in all honesty. The past few mornings had been the same; Oliver up before the sun, working on translating the book. Elio definitely felt like the third wheel in the relationship at the moment; ever since they had figured out the code, Oliver had thought of little else.

He opened his eyes properly half a moment later when there came a clanking noise a few metres away, followed by muffled swearing. Oliver wasn’t in his usual morning place; hunched over the table that doubled as a desk at the moment, cup of lukewarm coffee half-forgotten by his hand. Instead, he was bent over, with his head in a cupboard. He was also completely naked; butt towards the bed. Elio sat up slowly, thoroughly perplexed.

‘As much as I appreciate the view,’ he said, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

This question was immediately followed by a thud, and a yelp of pain, indicating that Oliver had momentarily forgotten how tall he was, when trying to manoeuvre his head out of the cupboard.

‘Oh god, are you alright?’ said Elio through fits of giggles, as Oliver emerged, ruefully rubbing his head.

‘Ouch, yeah,’ said Oliver, glaring at the cupboard, as if it were somehow at fault.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Elio again.

‘Well, I was going to make you breakfast,’ said Oliver, ‘But I couldn’t find a frying pan; hence being in the cupboard.’

‘It’s on the rack by the sink, I used it last night and washed up’ said Elio gesturing, ‘You don’t normally make breakfast.’

‘Yes,’ said Oliver, making his way over to the bed and crawling onto it, ‘But today is not a normal day is it?’

Elio grinned at him, ‘I guess you might be right.’

‘Of course I’m right,’ said Oliver, leaning in and kissing him gently, ‘Happy Birthday babe.’

Elio smiled into Oliver’s lips, before trying to deepen the kiss, but Oliver wasn’t having it, ‘Breakfast first; now I know where the goddamn frying pan is.’

‘You could have just looked,’ said Elio with a giggle.

‘Yeah, well,’ said Oliver waving his suggestion away with a hand as he began to cook; pancakes by the smell as the pan began to sizzle. Elio moved the pillow behind his back, so that he could sit up properly in bed. He smiled happily to himself as Oliver worked, and brought him a cup of tea halfway through the pancakes cooking. He got up briefly to pee in the meantime, and then returned to the warmth of the covers. The view was very nice; Oliver’s muscled back and arms in the half light of the morning, gently moving under the slightly tanned skin. His amazing ass, and then those miles of legs. Elio smirked to himself as he thought about how goddamn lucky he was to have this demi-god in his bed at night.

‘What are you smirking at?’ Oliver asked when he looked over his shoulder.

‘You,’ said Elio with a shrug, ‘And how goddamn sexy you are.’

‘Oh yeah?’ asked Oliver with a grin, flexing a bicep in a mockery of a bodybuilder.

‘Maybe not when you do that,’ said Elio, ‘That reminds me of Popeye.’

Oliver chuckled, and turned back to plate up the pancakes. He done them with lemon and sugar, the way the Elio liked them, the way Mafalda used to do them, and he dug in, realising that he was actually really quite hungry. He’d only had a small tea last night, because Oliver had been out at the library – not the one he’d gone to with Jeanne – and hadn’t returned before dinner.

‘Good?’ Oliver asked, watching him attack the pancakes with gusto.

‘Yeah,’ said Elio, around a mouthful of food, swallowing hard.

‘Sexy,’ said Oliver chuckling. Elio shrugged and continued stuffing his face.

‘So, what’s the plan for today?’

‘Well, I thought after breakfast, we could have a shower together...’ said Oliver, ‘And I’d start by stroking your cock, after I’ve soaped the rest of you of course… don’t want it to be too much though; just get the party started a bit, y’know?’

‘Good start,’ said Elio, swallowing some more of the delicious pancakes, his throat feeling slightly constricted, ‘And then what?’

‘And then I thought I’d rim you to within an inch of your life, because I know how much you love that…’ said Oliver, his voice fairly flat, as if he were recounting a shopping list.

‘Mmm?’ asked Elio, rearranging his legs slightly as his cock began to take an interest in Oliver’s words.

‘Mmmm,’ Oliver agreed, ‘And then I’ve got a present. Then, I was going to take you out for a late lunch before…’

‘Before?’ asked Elio, setting his now finished breakfast aside.

‘Before we meet Étoile for drinks and dancing later, and then we see where the night takes us,’ said Oliver, ‘Does that sound like a good birthday?’

‘It sounds amazing,’ said Elio, smiling widely, before leaning forward to kiss him, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ said Oliver, his voice raw with its honesty, ‘Now, come on, shower.’

**

‘Oh god, Oliver!’ Elio was a writhing mess.

‘Fuck, you’re so hot like this,’ mumbled Oliver somewhere from the vicinity of his inner thighs.

All Elio could do was offer a garbled moan in response as Oliver’s tongue traced around his oh-so-sensitive rim once again, before licking in a broad stripe from his tailbone to his balls, his mouth soft against his most sensitive skin. He’d already made him cum once, and then after a very short rest period, had started again, resulting in how Elio was now; covered in a light sheen of sweat, hand running through his curls in desperation, as his orgasm built once again deep in his naval. Oliver was alternating between sucking on his sensitive skin, and using his tongue to delicately tease the inside of his hole, which was fluttering at the sensations coursing through his body.

‘Please, Oliver, fuck me!’ Elio begged him, pulling his knees up to his chest, in a desperate attempt to illustrate his desire. Oliver merely chuckled against his ass cheek.

‘That’s not what I was supposed to be doing,’ said Oliver, looking at him between his parted thighs. Elio looked down through hooded eyes, his mind slow because of lust.

‘I don’t care,’ whined Elio, ‘I need something in me; like _yesterday…_ ’

Apparently, Oliver came to a compromise, and using the lube that he’d thrown on the bed earlier; slicked up his finger, before sliding it into Elio’s willing body, searching for that place that made his body instantly go taut on the bed, and him to moan out his pleasure to the ceiling.

‘Yes, yes, _yes_ ,’ he moaned, ‘There; oh god, Oliver!’

Oliver didn’t say anything, but gently added another finger, rubbing repeatedly over that bundle of nerves, that made his legs shake.

‘Fuck,’ Elio whined, his arm thrown over his face, his hips rocking in tandem with Oliver’s fingers ‘I’m going to cum…’

‘Yes baby,’ Oliver murmured, his voice thick with lust. Elio didn’t see him move, but he sure as hell felt what he did next, as Oliver took his rock-hard cock in his mouth, sucking on the head. That was all it took for him to completely lose it; his body arched in expression of his ecstasy as he came hard; his head thrown back into the pillow, as his muscles went taut under Oliver’s skilful hands. The ripples went through him for at least half a minute afterwards, as his breathing and heartrate slowly returned to normal. His chest was hot, and there was a rosy glow to his neck due to his arousal.

‘Jesus,’ he mumbled a moment later, looking down between his spread thighs where Oliver was still lying, a grin on his face.

‘Good?’ Oliver asked.

Elio nodded, sitting up and reaching for him, dragging him down for a deep and sloppy kiss, pulling his warm weight on top of him. In the midst of the kiss, he reached down between their bodies and realised that Oliver had already cum, because he hissed when he touched his cock.

He pulled back and looked at his boyfriend slightly perplexed, Oliver smiled lazily back at him, ‘You looked so incredible when you came, I just came with you; didn’t need anything else.’

‘Fuccckk…’ moaned Elio, Oliver’s words immediately making desire pool deep in his stomach again, ‘You have to stop talking like that, or I’m never going to be able to get out of bed.’

Oliver chuckled, sitting up, ‘On that note; I’ve got your present. Stay there.’

‘I wasn’t going anywhere fast,’ muttered Elio, knowing that he would need another shower before he went anywhere anyway. Oliver slid off the bed and wandered over to the bookshelf, coming back a moment later with a small wrapped packet, handing it to him as he sat down on the bed.

‘Happy Birthday,’ Oliver said, ‘I know it’s only small, but I hope you…’

Elio cut him off by putting him a finger on Oliver’s lips, ‘I love you. Thank you for this.’

He slid his finger under the opening in the paper, and opened it with a snick. Underneath was a small flat black box, with a logo embossed in silver on the top. He opened the box and his mouth fell open. Lying on a bed of black velvet was a bracelet made of black leather, with a small silver charm hanging from the band. It was simple, but it was beautiful.

‘Wow,’ he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he looked at it, ‘I love it. It’s beautiful.’

‘Really?’ asked Oliver, ‘I didn’t know whether it was too simple; but I thought it was nice enough.’

‘I really love it,’ said Elio, a little overwhelmed, and feeling as if he might cry, ‘Put it on me?’

Oliver smiled and shuffled forward on the bedspread, taking the bracelet out of the box, and sliding the catch open. Elio held out his wrist towards him, so he could fasten it. It looked brilliant around his slim wrist, the black leather a beautiful contrast to his pale skin. Oliver kissed the inside of his wrist before letting go of his hand.

‘Wow,’ said Oliver, ‘It suits you.’

‘Thank you,’ breathed Elio, leaning up and kissing him softly, his warm mouth pliant under his, ‘I love you.’

Oliver grinned underneath his mouth, pushing him back against the plumped-up pillow. It was going to be a while before they left the apartment.


	20. Update

***same message as on Into Darkness***

I'm not sure if I'm really allowed to do this on AO3, and I'm sorry to my subscribers for (possibly) getting you excited when an email came through saying there was a new chapter.

This is just a quick note to say that I know it's been a while since I updated, and it's on my mind constantly. I have been stupidly busy lately, and also suffering in a bit of funk because of various things. I promise I have not abandoned this story. I love it too much. I don't want to promise when the next chapter will be out, but I'm hoping it's really really soon!!

Thank you so much for waiting patiently, means the world!

xxx


	21. Best Day Of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elio & Oliver find escape for a while...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for waiting for this update, and thank you so so much for your support and love on my "update", it's truly special to know that you'll wait around for me to sort my life out... Much much love! Your comments and support means the world to me. I hope you like this chapter! <3 
> 
>  
> 
> Song Title = 'Best Day Of My Life' by American Authors  
>  _The stars were burning so bright//The sun was out 'til midnight_

Elio was floating through what was an amazing day; he couldn’t have asked for a better birthday. They’d had dinner at some hole in the wall bistro that Étoile had recommended, that did the most _amazing_ pasta dishes. They were possibly enough to rival Mafalda’s, although of course he would never tell her that. They’d shared one, or three, bottles of wine over the space of several hours, sitting and talking about everything and anything. The only thing that was off limits was what was going on with Rousseau, and the swiftly fading bruise on Étoile’s eye and cheek bone. It was a nice change to escape from their ongoing reality of somehow being caught up with a gang that thought that drugging research historians and hitting women that had been used since they were a teenager was all in a day’s work. That was all brushed under the carpet, just for one night. It was like they could escape their reality for a moment, and just be here, the three of them.

Before Étoile had joined them for dinner, he had spent most of the day with Oliver. It had taken them longer than anticipated to actually leave the apartment (they needed to shower _again_ ). Then Elio had complained when Oliver had started to put clothes _on_ , so that had led to a further delay. Oliver had talked him around to the idea that walking around central Paris stark naked would probably lead to him getting arrested, which would cause a bit of a downer on his birthday. After some naked wrestling, Elio had allowed him to get dressed. Then the phone had rung, and he’d spent a good half an hour on the phone to his parents, who told him that his present was waiting for him the next time he came to visit, or with them if they came to Paris first. Apparently, whatever it was couldn’t be posted. Elio was intrigued, but they wouldn’t let on any further than that.

Once they finished talking they’d finally headed out into the September sunshine. They then spent a very relaxed afternoon wandering along the rivers, over to the central island next to Notre Dame, and then back again. They didn’t have any money to actually go into anywhere, but it didn’t matter. Elio was content to just wander the streets of the gorgeous city with Oliver, who bought him an ice cream from one of the street vendors, and then proceeded to steal half of it in one bite. Elio looked across at him in fake disgust, before proceeding to kiss him and try and siphon some of the quickly melting ice cream out of his mouth. It quickly got very sticky and rather messy, and Elio couldn’t help but snort some of the melted ice cream when he heard an old woman mutter “disgusting” somewhere nearby. He couldn’t decide whether she was talking about the ice cream, or the fact that two men were kissing. In the end, Oliver had to go back to the vendor with melted ice cream on his chin, and buy a bottle of water whilst grabbing some napkins, in order to help them clean up.

They headed back to their apartment slowly, as the afternoon light turned to evening, and changed to get ready to go out to dinner with Étoile, meeting her at the bistro she suggested. Then they moved on to a bar and nightclub, as it was fast approaching eleven at night. He didn’t let them go in for a moment, wanting to watch the illuminated hands of Notre Dame strike eleven, and hear the bells chime, the loud reverberations shivering through his bones. He’d come to love that sound, even when it woke him from his sleep in the morning. Oliver wrapped his arms around him from behind as they listened to the last three chimes strike.

‘Come on, let’s go in, before the place fills up!’ Étoile said from behind them, as they turned back to the bouncer on the door, paid the entry fee, and their hands were stamped. It would be dark, hot, and beginning to get quite crowded inside, despite it being fairly early. The night was still young, and this place would be packed before long. According to Étoile it was a very popular nightclub/bar for the locals, and on a Friday – like today – it would be packed to the rafters well before midnight, hence the reason she had insisted they go early and at least get their stamps. As she was the local, both he and Oliver had agreed without complaint.

Inside, they headed down the narrow and dark steps towards the thumping music that was emanating upwards from the rooms below. Upon reaching the bottom he was hit by the smell of alcohol, perfume and cologne, a fair bit of smoke from both cigarettes and joints, as well the underlying smell of lots of people in a relatively small space. It took a few moments for his senses to catch up with all the different sights and smells. He could see that there was a queue at the bar already, something that Oliver clocked as well.

‘I’ll get us drinks,’ he said, his mouth close to Elio’s ear so that he could be heard. Elio nodded, trusting Oliver to get something that he would want. Oliver usually got the drinks if they came to a place like this; his height helped him get served quicker than if either he or Étoile had gone to the bar instead. He took up more space, was less likely to be shoved aside or ignored by the bartenders.

‘Let’s go find a booth!’ said Étoile, raising her voice even though she was only stood about a foot away. Elio nodded, and she grabbed his hand, tugging him away through the crowd towards the edges of the room, to find somewhere for them to perch until Oliver came back with the drinks. Her hand was soft under Elio’s, but her grip was strong and her step confident as she manoeuvred her way through the crowded club.

He always wondered what places like this looked like in the daylight. Disgusting, probably. The floor would undoubtable be filthy, and the walls were probably peeling, every surface vaguely sticky. But in the dark it gained a type of magic; a place of dance and desire where people could come to escape the world in the street above. People came down here to leave that behind for a while, and that was precisely what they were doing tonight as well; had been doing all day, and he was determined to make the most of it. The wine they’d had at dinner was still very much in his system, and he was feeling nicely content and relaxed as they sat down in a deserted booth, the dark red light from a bulb above their head illuminating the scene. He leaned his head on Étoile’s shoulder, breathing in the smell of her soft perfume.

‘Cigarette?’ asked Étoile, offering him one from a cigarette case.

Elio shook his head, he didn’t fancy it right now, unless he could score some weed later. He had the occasional cigarette, usually when he was stressed or annoyed. He remembered he had tried smoking more in the summer, now realising that it was perhaps a furtive attempt on his part to look older and be more impressive to Oliver. He wished he’d have known that he needn’t have bothered. He watched as Étoile put the cigarette between her red painted lips, and lit the end with a match, the brief flicker of the flame lighting up her angular face. She drew in a breath, her mouth tightening around the end, before she drew it away, holding it between two manicured fingers with her elbow resting on the table. There was something quite erotic about watching someone like Étoile smoke a cigarette. Perhaps it was the insinuation of the hands and the mouth, the way her eyes hooded as the nicotine hit her system, and the way her mouth relaxed into an open moue as she breathed out, smoke clouding around her.

‘Sure?’ she said, holding out the cigarette to him after seeing where he was looking.

He shook his head, ‘No, I was just enjoying watching you.’

Étoile laughed, and blew him a soft kiss.

Oliver reappeared beside them a moment later, carrying a tray that looked to be laden with quite a few drinks. Elio sat up straight.

‘Took me a moment to find you!’ he said, ‘Didn’t know where you’d gone.’

‘Sorry,’ said Elio, as he slid into the booth next to him, putting the tray down on the table.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Oliver as he started to take the drinks off the tray; he’d bought them all shots of some kind of clear liquid, and then three bottles of beer.

‘What are the shots?’ asked Étoile, leaning forward in interest.

‘Tequila,’ said Oliver with a grin, ‘Should get the party started.’

‘And the wine wasn’t enough?’ asked Elio, looking at the first shot that Oliver had put in front of him, ‘I’ve never had tequila before.’

Oliver looked down at him and grinned, ‘Really?’

He blushed, although it probably couldn’t be seen in this light, and shook his head.

‘Well then, time for a lesson,’ said Oliver, taking what looked like a salt cellar, and a small dish of lime slices off the tray as well.

‘Is that salt?’ asked Elio curiously.

‘Yup,’ said Oliver, his eyes glittering, ‘So; the way to do a tequila shot – lick, sip, suck…’

Elio looked at him, ‘Sounds more like how to give a blow job than anything else.’

‘Probably the original point,’ said Oliver, ‘Watch,’

He moved over onto the other side of the booth, so that he was sat next to Étoile, and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and grinned at him, before sweeping her hair to one side, leaving one shoulder and the side of her neck bare. He’d always thought there was something erotic about the exposing of a bare shoulder and neck; it wasn’t traditionally titillating, but when someone was fully dressed and this was the only thing exposed, it allowed the mind to wander to what the rest of the body underneath the clothes might look like.

Elio watched wide eyed as Oliver took the salt from the table, and trailed the smallest of lines onto the crease where Étoile’s shoulder met her neck, some of it falling into the well of her collarbone. He held the shot in one hand, before leaning in a licking the line of salt from her skin, quickly took the shot, and then reached for the lime, sucking at the tender flesh of the fruit. He let it out of his mouth a moment later, and smirked.

‘There you have it, tequila!’ he said.

‘Are you _supposed_ to do it off someone else?’ asked Elio.

‘Well, you don’t have to…’ said Oliver.

‘But it’s more fun that way!’ said Étoile with a giggle.

‘I think for the first one, I’ll just do it normally,’ he said, ‘But I’m definitely going to remember that for later…’

He reached for the salt, and put laid some out on the back of his hand; the flattest part of his own body that he could reach easily, before picking up the shot in his right hand. He licked the salt quickly from his skin, the sharp taste instantly hitting him, before he downed the shot. It was in that second that he understood exactly why you needed the lime; the tequila was both hot and bitter all in the same mouthful. It went down his throat like a fireball as he reached for the lime, sucking on it, instantly finding relief in the tangy and fruity taste.

‘ _Wow,’_ he said a moment later, after shaking his head like a dog that had water in its ears, ‘That was _really_ bitter!’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Oliver with a shrug, ‘But it does the trick and gets you drunk nice and quickly.’

‘I’m not saying a didn’t like it,’ he said, as he watched Étoile take her first shot, ‘I just didn’t expect it to taste like that.’

‘There’s a rhyme for tequila,’ said Oliver, leaning across the table.  

‘Is there?’ he asked.

‘One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, four, five tequila, six tequila, seven tequila, floor…’

Elio laughed, ‘I definitely won’t get that far! I think I’d be doing well if I got to five…’

‘Yes, well,’ said Oliver, ‘I don’t want to have to carry you home tonight; that is _definitely_ not the point of this evening.’

Elio looked at him and bit his lip, a small smirk turning the edge of his mouth upwards. He knew that Oliver liked it when he bit his lip, the gesture feigning innocence and submission.

‘Can we dance?’ asked Étoile from beside him, nudging him with her elbow, having finished her cigarette a while ago.

‘What about the rest of the drinks?’ he asked, gesturing to the shots and beer still on the table.

‘I’ll look after it,’ said Oliver with a shrug, ‘Go dance!’

He knew that this wasn’t an entirely selfless act, as Oliver did have a penchant for watching he and Étoile dance. He knew that from past experience, and now that he thought about it, it was really that that had brought them to this night in the first place. As Étoile placed her hands on his hips and they began to sway to the music that was playing, he looked down at her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her waist, drawing her close, feeling her body under his hands. She was objectively attractive, he could see that; her body lithe and long, the way she moved. Just because he was in a relationship with Oliver, one that he was determined to maintain for as long as fate allowed him to, didn’t mean that he couldn’t recognise an attractive woman when he saw one.

He remembered thinking the same thing at one point when he was sleeping with Marzia; they weren’t in competition with each other.  It wasn’t a case of who would win his heart and soul, because Oliver had already done that, hook, line, and sinker. It was a case of desire, and the fact that Oliver was allowing him to explore his desires, whilst being sure in the knowledge that he was still loved and supported. This wasn’t a covert affair; it was something that they did together, within the bounds of their relationship. He could desire Étoile, and still love Oliver. They weren’t exclusive of each other.

He could feel the tequila beginning to sing in his blood as he leaned forward, and placed his lips on the spot where Oliver had licked the salt from Étoile’s neck. It still tasted a little salty, but he didn’t know whether that was from the shot, or from the natural taste of her skin as she began to sweat slightly in this hot room. Her head tilted back, giving him better access to kiss her neck. He knew that Oliver was watching them.

He looked up a moment later, jerking his head away from her as a familiar intro to a song began to play, and his eyes widened as he recognised it. He grabbed Étoile by the hand and pulled her from the floor, back to the booth.

‘Come on!’ he said to Oliver, ‘We have to dance to this!’

Oliver chuckled, ‘You know how much I suck at dancing…’

‘But this is different! You love this song, I love this song; this is our song!’ said Elio, knowing that Oliver wasn’t really going to fight him on this, because he knew exactly what he was talking about. This song followed them everywhere they went, their theme song. Oliver nodded, allowing Elio to pull him to his feet. Étoile slid back into the booth to watch the drinks as they moved over to the dancefloor. Unlike the last time that he had heard this song, when he had watched Oliver dance alongside a woman, free of any inhibitions, Elio placed his hands firmly on Oliver’s hips, drawing him close to him. It didn’t matter if they weren’t really dancing, Elio just wanted to feel Oliver all over him as the pulse of the music moved through their bodies.

‘ _Love my way, it’s a new road… I follow where my mind goes,’_

In that moment, Elio felt like he might cry; the song meant so much to him. It filled every particle of his being as he thought about it; he had followed where his mind went, and where his heart had gone. He’d taken a new road with the man he was holding onto, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He balled his fists into the front of Oliver’s shirt, dragging him down to meet his mouth in a hungry kiss. He felt like he wanted to devour Oliver to the cadence of the music, and felt like Oliver might feel the same as his strong arms wrapped around him tightly, bringing them as close as they could be on the dance floor, their hips and feet still moving to the music.

‘ _So swallow all your tears, my love; And you put on your new face…’_

‘God, I love you,’ he muttered against Oliver’s mouth as they broke apart.

‘I love you too,’ said Oliver, kissing him once again to seal his declaration. They held each other, moving together.

The song ended, fading into Blondie’s ‘Heart of Glass’, another song that Elio adored, but didn’t quite hold the same level of intensity as ‘Love My Way’ did.

‘I need another drink,’ said Oliver, ‘Come on,’

Elio could only nod, and allowed Oliver to draw him back over to the booth, where Étoile was watching with wide eyes.

‘Jesus,’ she said as they sat back down, ‘I think half the club is about ready to fuck you after that display.’

Elio snorted in disbelief, but then looked around and saw that there were indeed many people looking at them, smiles and glittering eyes denoting their internal emotions. He giggled over at a couple who were busy feeling each other up, apparently about ready to leave to continue their evening somewhere more private.

They had another shot, and the beer followed soon after, before they headed back onto the dance floor. All three of them this time, as there were no drinks to look after on the table anymore. He was now a good amount of wine – albeit with food – two tequila shots, and a bottle of beer down. He was surely going to feel this in the morning, but right now, he felt like he was flying; with two of the best people in the world. The DJ in the corner was playing some of the best of late seventies dance tracks that his father had once dismissed as “utter garbage”. His mother had been a bit more relaxed about it.

He didn’t know how long they spent on the floor, but soon he felt the need to make his way to the bar to get another round of drinks. It was even busier than before, and he relied on Oliver putting his arms around him and using his elbows to keep people from squishing him to death as he tried to get served. The bartenders were rushed off their feet, but they eventually got around to them. He ordered three more tequilas and a bottle of water for afterwards. He picked up the tray and headed back to the booth they were at earlier, where Étoile was busy sweet talking two guys who had sat down in it to move. They seemed to be quite amiable to what she was saying, and a moment later shifted out.

‘What did you say?’ he asked as he put the tray down.

She grinned, and shrugged with one shoulder, ‘I never tell my secrets.’

Oliver sat down, still breathing a bit harder from the heat and shoving through the crowd; he’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and Elio could see the sweat shining on his skin. His whole body swam with desire for this man; he couldn’t believe that he got to call him his own.

Elio took a gulp of his water first, just to assuage some of the thirst he’d worked up from dancing, before he turned to the tequila he’d bought. He grinned over at Oliver, before moving the tray to one side so there was space.

‘Get on the table,’ he ordered.

‘What?’ asked Oliver, his eyes widening.

‘You heard me,’ he said, causing Étoile to giggle.

‘Demanding,’ she said with a grin.

‘We’ll get kicked out,’ said Oliver, but moved towards sitting on the table anyway.

‘Lay back,’ said Elio, moving up between his thighs and running his hands up his lover’s legs.

‘ _Elio…’_ Oliver breathed.

‘Go on,’ he said, picking up the tequila shot.

Oliver did what he was bid, but not before furtively looking around, but they were quite well hidden in the booth, and the darkness shadowed what the location did not.

Elio grinned down at him and unbuttoned the next few buttons on his shirt, exposing more of his chest as he pushed the fabric apart. He climbed up a moment later, sitting over Oliver’s thighs as he lay back on the table. Oliver reached down and held onto his hips, just to make sure he wasn’t going to fall. He rolled his hips into Oliver’s; just to make a point before glancing over at Étoile, who was holding the salt. Her eyes were wide as she watched what he was doing. He reached for the salt and shook some out on Oliver’s chest, just underneath his sternum. Then he took a lime and placed it the wrong way around in his mouth, just so that his teeth were holding the peel; he seemed to get the idea.

With a quick look and a grin at Oliver, who was craning his neck a bit to see what was happening, he leaned down and slowly licked the salt from his chest, before grabbing the tequila shot, downing it, and then quickly leaning forward and sucking the lime that was still lodged between Oliver’s teeth. He spat it to one side a moment later, not caring that this was a pretty uncouth thing to do. Oliver sat up quickly then, almost unseating him, before kissing him fiercely, his tongue chasing the tequila and the taste.

A moment later he moved him backwards so that he could put his feet back on the floor, trying to stay connected to Oliver in every way that he could. He slid his arms down Oliver’s sides before he reached between them and gently palmed Oliver’s crotch, feeling the evidence of his growing arousal under his hand. Oliver hissed, his hips moving involuntarily towards him.

‘We need to get out of here,’ said the blond man. He turned to Étoile, and handed her one of the last two shots. She drank it, and quickly sucked on a lime, mirroring Oliver’s actions as neither of them bothered with salt.

‘Come on,’ Oliver said, grabbing him by the hand. For his part, Elio wrapped his arm around Étoile’s waist, and together, slightly tipsy, but with plenty of intent in their step, they made their way out of the club and towards home.


	22. Fire Meet Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Étoile, Elio, and Oliver spend the night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, this is basically just 3,000 words of porn. Porn with feelings. :) Don't read this at work. Like seriously. 
> 
> I hope I did this scene justice, as I know I've been teasing it for a while... let me know what you think, and whether it was... um... good. :P 
> 
> Chapter Title: 'Fire Meet Gasoline' by Sia. 
> 
> V  
> xx

‘Undress him… slowly,’

Elio shuddered in delight at the deep tone of desire in Oliver’s voice, as he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at him and Étoile, who were stood at the foot, waiting for his direction. They had established before they’d even got this far that nothing was really off limits tonight, that Oliver was in charge, and that the only thing Étoile had been asked not do was to try and kiss either of them on the mouth, everything else was fair game. She’d seemed to think that that was perfectly reasonable.

‘Do you… like to watch?’ asked Étoile. Elio could hear the note of confidence in her purring voice, but he was unsurprised. This was what she did; finding out what people liked and then delivering it for them. This was Étoile in her element.

‘Not in general,’ said Oliver, his eyes dark as he looked up at them, ‘I like to watch _him.’_

He couldn’t help but let out a low moan at Oliver’s words. He felt so utterly, _desired_. Étoile took his hand then and gently pulled him in front of her, so that her chest was to his back, and he was facing Oliver, whose eyes were hooded with lust, his gaze dark. Étoile, as he had guessed earlier in the evening, wasn’t wearing a bra, and he could feel her nipples peaked and stiff as she pressed against his back. Her arms reached around him to the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing the top few, before she stopped for a moment, caressing his neck and tugging at his hair, causing him to tilt his head back, so she could kiss the juncture of his neck. Then her hands moved back to his shirt, undoing the last of his buttons, and motioning that he should help her slide it off his shoulders.

Her hands wrapped around him, and slid down the planes of his chest, to his flat, slim waist. He often thought it was almost feminine in shape; very little muscle to speak of, and certainly no definition. But Oliver thought he was beautiful, so he supposed that was all he needed. His breathing sped up as Étoile’s manicured fingers reached his belt buckle, where the trail of fine hair from his naval disappeared into his jeans. She rested her hands upon his buckle, her fingers gently manoeuvring the metal and leather, but she didn’t undo it.

‘Go on,’ said Oliver throatily after a brief pause.

Her fingers instantly slid under the leather and she pulled the belt through the loops and the clasp, before letting it fall to the floor, on top of his shirt. She moved him then, turning them so they were facing each other, side on to Oliver. Her eyes flickered up to his briefly, before she flicked his button and undid the zipper on his jeans. She knelt as she pulled his jeans down his legs, until they pooled at his ankles, and she helped him step out of them. Her face was very close to his crotch, and his hard on, that was pressing against the front of his boxers. She mouthed over the cloth, allowing him just the hint of sensation on his the tip of his cock, before she moved back, looking at Oliver for instructions.

‘Take them off, and blow him,’ Oliver ordered. Elio’s legs shook slightly in anticipation, as Étoile reached to slide her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, sliding them down until his hard cock escaped the material, pointing stiff towards his belly.

He felt utterly naked; much more so than he would do if it were just Oliver and he. There was something about having Oliver watching him, his dark eyes blown with lust, that made him feel utterly exposed, but made his heartrate speed up and desire to pool within him.

And then Étoile took him in his mouth, and his brain ceased to function properly. The feeling was familiar, but the sensations she was delivering were different. She did not try and take him all her mouth at first, instead she concentrated on licking the sensitive areas of his prick, teasing him, before paying attention to his balls, making him gasp and tilt his head back. He felt like his knees might give way. But then Oliver was standing behind him, naked chest against his back (when did he take his shirt off? He’d not seen him…), his firm hands on his hipbones, his chin on his shoulder, looking down at Étoile sucking his cock. Then he tilted his head back so that his head was resting on his shoulder, and he could watch him.

‘Fuck,’ Oliver breathed in his ear, the sound of liquid sin making Elio’s legs shudder, ‘You look so incredible right now. I love watching your pleasure on your face.’

‘Oliverrrr,’ he moaned, unable to concentrate between the feelings of the warm mouth around his prick, and the voice of his lover in his ear. He didn’t know what to focus on. His mind was forcefully brought back to the sensations between his legs when Étoile took him all in her mouth and down her throat, tightening around him. He groaned loudly, his head falling back with a smack as his fingers tightened in Étoile’s hair. His instincts were telling him to rock his hips, but Oliver’s warm hands on his hip bones were holding him still so he couldn’t move. He could just feel Étoile’s mouth around his cock, and Oliver’s prick, still confined in his jeans, pressed hard against his ass. He wanted, no _needed_ , to either press forward or to grind back, but Oliver’s hands were preventing him from doing either. His immobility made him squirm as his body tried to process what to do.

‘Oh god, Étoile, _please_ , _fuck…_ ’ he moaned, looking down at the sinful image of his cock between her lips. She looked up at him, her eyes hooded.

‘Are you going to cum?’ asked Oliver, biting his earlobe, before tracing his hands up his chest to nipples, brushing them with his palms.

Words had pretty much failed him, as Étoile hummed and moaned, so he just nodded, his hips now free to rock into her mouth, but she didn’t seem to mind.

‘I want to watch you come undone,’ Oliver whispered.

At Oliver’s whispered words, Étoile took him as deep as she could, so he could feel the tip of his cock in the back of her throat, the vibrations of her moans rattling through his hips, and he just completely lost it, his hips pushed forward into her mouth, but she just allowed him to do so. Oliver’s pants in his ear as he held him through an intense orgasm provided the soundtrack to his unravelling.

‘Holy shit,’ he breathed a moment later when he could actually see again. Oliver chuckled and just manoeuvred him to lie on the bed. His body felt like liquid and slightly boneless, as his eyes dropped closed for a moment, his chest rising and falling with exertion.

‘Still with us, babe?’ came Oliver’s voice a moment later.

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ he said, opening his eyes to see the pair of them standing at the foot of the bed, both now fully naked, their hastily shod clothes pooled at their feet, ‘I think you just nearly killed me though.’

‘Death by orgasm,’ Étoile giggled, ‘What a way to go.’

Oliver chuckled, climbing onto the bed beside him, running a hand down his chest, ‘And we’re only just getting started.’

Elio moaned breathily at the promise in his voice.

Étoile slid to the other side of them, both of them looking down at him, whilst propped up on one arm. He took a moment to appreciate their differences in the glimmer of the moonlight; Étoile was soft, and her body curved like a wave as she lay on her side; whereas Oliver was hard, from his strong chest and hard abs, down his hard cock at the apex of thighs.

Elio wanted to touch, so he placed his hand on Oliver’s leg and began to draw it upwards, but Oliver’s free hand caught his and stopped him, making him pout slightly.

‘Turn around,’ Oliver ordered, still very much in control, ‘So you’re the other way up.’

He got the gist after a moment of manoeuvring; Oliver wanted him positioned so that his head was between Étoile’s thighs, and Étoile’s mouth was between his.

‘Now,’ Oliver said, his voice barely above a whisper, ‘Do you remember when we spoke about this before? And you said you’d use your pretty little mouth to make her cum…? Well, I want to see it, whilst she starts to open you up for me…’

Oliver’s talent for dirty talk had Elio’s cock stirring again, despite the fact he had only cum about three minutes previously, but there was no way he was going to be able to get fully hard again straight away.

He wasted no time in beginning to pleasure Étoile; the anatomy might be different to what he was generally used to, but he’d gone down on Marzia before, and enjoyed hearing her little squeaks and sighs of pleasure as he did so. He began by teasing around her centre of pleasure, adding pressure with his fingers here and there, not touching her clit directly in order to get her worked up for his mouth and his fingers. He was instantly distracted when he felt her tongue on his hole, and his perineum, his head shooting up from his task as he breathed, _oh jesus_ , at the sensation.

‘Did I say you could stop?’ Oliver growled, from somewhere near his ass, giving it a light slap. Elio leaned back down, a moan rippling up his throat, which inevitably was felt in Étoile’s body causing her to moan as well. He loved it when Oliver was bossy in bed; it turned him on so much. He began to work more intently, sucking and licking at Étoile’s clit, whilst dipping his fingers into her wet heat. Her knees drew up involuntarily for a moment, as he made her thighs shake. He smirked against her, loving that he was making her feel these things. It was difficult to focus, feeling Étoile’s tongue on and inside his hole, to the feeling of her body under his hands. He could feel his cock was once again fully hard in between his thighs, but Étoile was paying it no attention. He nearly lost it again when he felt a finger, definitely Oliver’s, lubed already, slide softly around his rim, and then enter his body in one smooth motion to the knuckle. His moan was loud then, and rumbled through Étoile’s core, causing her to squeak and grind upwards, telling him she was close. She reached down with one hand, pressing his face between her legs as she moaned, the vibrations so so close to his hole, making him pant out his desire. His mind was a mess, from the feeling of Étoile about to cum, to her moaning and lapping at his hole, to the feel of Oliver’s finger, he had no idea what to focus on.

His decision was made for him a moment later when Étoile’s thighs shook and her hips rocked involuntarily upwards, causing him to lift his head to avoid breaking his nose as she rode out her pleasure. But they didn’t let up, as another finger joined the first in his hole, scissoring the muscle. He hung his head and panted as Oliver’s knuckle brushed against his prostate. His poor addled brain was galloping just to keep up. And then a much slimmer finger was also tracing his rim, slick with lube, and he heard Oliver moan as this finger joined his.

‘ _Yesss, that’s it,’_ he heard Oliver hiss, his voice deep with lust. If he had the brain space to do so, he would have blushed, knowing that the both of them were looking at him in such an intimate way, but he couldn’t; all he could think about was the feelings as they manipulated him until he was putty in their hands, his head hanging between his shoulder blades, his ass rocking back onto the fingers, desperately chasing his pleasure.

‘Please,’ he whined, not entirely sure what he was asking for.

The next thing he knew, the fingers had gone, and he began to protest at the loss, before he was wrapped in Oliver’s strong arms, and flipped the right way again, his lips within an inch of Oliver’s mouth. He kissed him them, deeply, wanting to devour this incredibly sexy man in front of him, as he was making him nearly weep with pleasure. If Oliver could taste Étoile on his lips, it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He broke away a moment later.

‘Now I’m going to fuck you, until you fall apart,’ Oliver growled against his mouth. Elio looked down between their bodies; Oliver’s cock was hard, and weeping precum. Elio wanted to taste it, but clearly Oliver had other ideas.

‘I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to fuck her,’ he said, as Étoile wriggled up the bed and spread her thighs, so they were either side of his body. She twisted slightly, reaching over to their nightstand before she turned back with a condom in her hand. She must have brought it, because he and Oliver fucked without condoms. She tore the wrapper, and slid it down his prick, without ever breaking eye contact with him. He moaned when she touched him again. He was on edge, and he knew he’d have to fight to hold himself back.

He groaned, his mouth finding the crook of Étoile’s neck, as he slid into her warm heat, tight around his prick. He bit down a moment later (he couldn’t help himself), causing her to gasp, when Oliver seated himself within him in one smooth glide, rubbing over his sensitive prostate as he did so. He was instantly glad of the condom, because it took the edge off just very slightly, so he didn’t completely lose control. He let Oliver set the pace, as he rocked forward, Elio rocked back; as he pulled back, he moved to thrust into Étoile. He was never without glorious sensation; whether the tight wet heat around his cock, or the wonderful stabs of pleasure that were filling his body from Oliver fucking him.

He was aware that he was babbling absolute nonsense; speaking about three different languages as his brain turned to mush in the sea of pleasure he was getting lost in. If he’d been able to think about it, he might have been amazed that he was able to hold himself up on his forearms. Oliver was nailing his centre of pleasure on every thrust, and because of it he experienced something he never had before. It was only afterwards, when he managed to think about it, and talk to Oliver, did he really understand what it was. He had an orgasm, but without coming. His whole body exploded in pleasure, his hips going tight and rocking hard into Étoile, his body surging with delight as Oliver held him through the waves of his pleasure. Apparently, you could have those. He didn’t know that until that night.   

It unravelled pretty quickly after that. Étoile moved her hand between their bodies, rubbing her clit in time with his thrusts, touching herself just how she liked; Oliver hands on his hips holding tightly as he fucked him hard, filthy words spilling from his lips as he kissed his neck in between murmuring obscenities. He could feel the pleasure building behind his naval, like a hook dragging him forward towards the explosion. He gasped, throwing his head back and twisting around so he could sloppily kiss Oliver.

‘ _Fuck, gonna cum_ , _fuck, fuck, fuck!’_ he moaned, trying to hold off for a few more seconds as Étoile moaned, her body arching against his. He was lost then, as she tightened around him, milking his cock. His own muscles tightened as he came, pouring into the condom, and Oliver groaned loudly, tensing as his orgasm overtook him. He felt the waves of pleasure crashing over him for a while, and he was vaguely aware of Oliver stepping back, leaving him feeling empty. He rolled off Étoile, and flopped onto his back on the bed, arm slung across his eyes, chest heaving.

‘ _Fucking hell,’_ he breathed after a moment, causing Oliver to chuckle somewhere nearby.

‘Good?’ Oliver murmured, peppering kisses on his shoulder, before reaching down and removing the condom, because he was clearly not in any fit state of mind to do it. He hissed at the touch to his over sensitive prick, but felt relief afterwards. He could hear Étoile breathing heavily beside him, and he was immediately drawn to her warmth.

‘You know how I said that I thought you nearly killed me earlier?’ he said to both of them.

‘Yes?’ said Oliver coming back, laying on the bed and putting his arms around him. He was big enough that he nearly enfolded Étoile in his embrace too.

‘I lied, that just then was the most intense orgasm I think I’ve ever had,’ said Elio, ‘I thought my heart might stop.’

Oliver chuckled against his throat, ‘Well, it is your birthday after all.’

‘Yeah,’ he murmured sleepily, ‘Happy Birthday to me….’

Étoile giggled, before manoeuvring to pull their blanket up around them. And it was like that, tangled together, and with the blanket wrapped around them, that they drifted off into a sated, and extremely relaxed, sleep.


End file.
